


stolen from time

by paniic



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masochism, Memory Loss, POV First Person, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 44,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paniic/pseuds/paniic
Summary: The Apprentice is chosen by the Countess of Vesuvia to find the one who murdered Count Lucio - the infamous Doctor Devorak.Yet as time passes on, she realizes - there is much more to the Doctor than his deemed crime.





	1. I

I look up at Julian through wet, dark lashes. I force myself to smile.

 

“It seems I’ve injured myself, Doctor.”

 

“Have you? Let me see you.”

 

I start a bit, so used to his snark that his voice almost sounds unreal. He keeps his dull stare on my ankle as he twists it back and forth. I can’t help but hiss in pain and arch my spine, a futile attempt to hide what I feel.

 

His hummed words are still thrumming in my mind, yet he appears indifferent. He does that, often. He’ll tease and smirk at me for a while and then – out of nowhere – he’s someone different, he’s cold and distant and it sort of hurts, oddly enough.

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – can you walk?”

 

_Stop cutting me off._

I want to shout my thoughts at him, but I retain my cool composure as I attempt to lift myself off the cold stone beneath me. I fall down immediately. He laughs at me with a sly and crooked smile, an expression of _almost_ endearment across his pallid face.

 

“Take my hand, then. I’ll walk you back to your Shop. Asra likely misses you.”

 

“He’s likely not there.”

 

I mumble, unsure why I am even speaking at all. I’m don’t know what it is, but something about him tonight is alluring. He’s even more elusive than he normally is. That smile of his is more plastered than usual, tired and weary.

 

He looks pained as he offers a leather-gloved hand to me. His thick auburn hair falls in his eyes.

 

“I can’t leave you all alone, can I? No, especially not injured. What kind of Doctor would I be, then? Take my hand, darling. I’ll take care of you,” he tells me in a tender tone.

 

I shiver. _Darling._ Each time he calls me that, I feel something flutter inside me. “How kind of you,” I murmur, pleased that I’ve broken through his hardened shell of distance.

 

I think of Master, as I take Julian’s hand. He’s either in the Shop waiting for me, or off in some dream world far, far from me. I’m never quite sure anymore. It’s impossible to concentrate on Asra when I have Julian with me, and it eases the pain, a hurt I can’t completely remember.

 

“Oh, look at you now. Don’t pout. You’re too pretty when you do.”

 

“ _Stop._ You’re ridiculous.”

 

“Please, _me?_ Says the woman who constantly injures herself! I’d have half a mind to say that you do it on _purpose,_ so that the good-kind-selfless Doctor will come to your rescue.”

 

“Oh yes, I _purposefully_ tripped down uneven stone stairs in the dead of night, all because I wanted you to put your hands on me.”

 

His silence scares me a bit, so I look up at him to make sure I didn’t go _too_ far. There are times when we do, when one of will say or do something a little too bold. It isn’t revulsion I see in his expression though, what I see is _want._ His cheeks are flushed, as are his ears.

 

He takes a moment to pull his gloves on tighter, looking at his hands for a while. He then interlocks his arm with mine and makes a gesture out towards the dark, dank slums. Even though we are in one of the worst parts of Vesuvia, he somehow makes it beautiful and enticing.

 

“If you _really_ want me to put your hands on you, we should head to the tavern. The drinks at the Rowdy Raven always make me go absolutely _wild.”_

“Oh? Then lead on, Doctor. Hope you don’t mind if I lean on you a bit.”

 

“Not at all. I quite like having you this close.”

 

“You do?”

 

His dark eyebrows raise a bit as he clears his throat, out of his element tonight. The stars twinkle above us in the cloudy, rain-filled sky, and I can see the shimmers of light reflect in the colorless gray of his eye. He looks down at me and I blush, so I look away.

 

The alleyways are quiet as we pass through them. He keeps me close, so close that our boots trip over each other, and – _somehow –_ we both manage to stumble and fall to the hard ground together. He catches me before I hit the stone, taking the force of impact on his back.

 

“Ooof,” he huffs, “we aren’t even drunk yet, and we’re stumbling around in the alleys.”

 

“This was _your_ fault,” I laugh, a throaty, desperate sound that comes out of me. I flush with warmth.

 

I’ve never been quite _this_ close to him, except that one time, when I teasingly decided to _‘pat him down,’_ in case he stole something from the Shop. He seemed into it at first, I remember, and I was too for some reason, but the excitement of that moment is a faded, hidden memory now.

 

I breathe harder as I look down at him. His auburn curls are a mess around his head, splayed out on the stone street. His smile is wicked and sinful and _beautiful_ and I hate how it makes my heart flutter. I fear for a moment that he can feel my quickened pulse with our chests pressed together, but –

 

– then I realize, _his_ pulse is beating rapidly too, outwards from his heart to his long neck.

 

“Um, I – ,” he clears his throat, flustered, but he doesn’t break the trance of our stare.

 

“Drinks,” I remind him, “at the – the tavern.”

 

“Right. Yes. Of course! Um – Uh – Let me help you up, hm?”

 

“If you would be so kind.”

 

“I promise I’ll try not to – to trip you, again.”

 

“Well, you _did_ take the fall, I suppose that allows you to be forgiven.”

 

I regret the words the moment they slip past my lips. His expression – _that_ one – the one of self-loathing and self-hatred and self-whatever-he-can-come-up-with-to-be-sad-about crosses his slender face and I curse myself internally.

 

His arms slide around my waist, keeping me down, keeping me pinned to him. I endure in silence as I burn even hotter, both inside and out. I look around at the vacant, slimy streets and wonder if there are eyes watching us. Not like it matters, really, but we shouldn’t _be_ together. I’m _‘hunting,’_ him.

 

“Forgiveness,” he murmurs, “such an interesting concept.”

 

“Oh God,” I sigh, “let’s head to the tavern, please. I’ll buy you as many Salty Bitters as you want.”

 

“As many as I want?”

 

“Yes. Yes. Good Doctor, I am a woman of my word. You just need to help me up.”

 

“I’ll tend to your ankle there, then, and natter about the wonderful _idea_ of forgiveness for hours.”

 

“I _might_ listen.”

 

“Might?”

 

“You’ll have to make it interesting.”

 

He smirks at me, a telling look of intrigue and cleverness that he wears so well. His arms tighten around my waist, one of his hands slides down the length of my spine. I shudder.

 

The thin clothes I have on do nothing to keep me from wanting his touch, from wanting more. His dark attire and coat don’t hide much of him, either, snug tight to his lithe frame.

 

_Damn him –_

“ – I can do interesting,” he promises.

 

“We shall see,” I say, then lift myself off his chest to stand, only to fall back down on him due to my hurt ankle.

 

He grunts in pain, then he moans _,_ and then he laughs, as if whatever he just felt - felt good.


	2. II

He swings open the tavern door for me and I step inside, a coy smirk on my lips.

 

“What a gentleman,” I tease.

 

“Have I not been so far?” he scoffs, shutting the door behind us.

 

“I suppose you have.”

 

“Then allow me to _prove_ to you what a gentleman I am. Find a table, I’ll get the drinks.”

 

I laugh a little as he bows towards me and backs away, his smile focused on me. His coat flows around him as he turns towards the bar, where he shouts to Barth in an amiable and familiar tone. I watch them talk for a bit, then I realize I should find a table before it’s too late.

 

I look around. The whole tavern in full, bustling with all kinds of people. The air is thick with the smell of booze and meat. I take a moment to calm my anxiety, then pull my wet hood down so it rests on my shoulders as I find a vacant table in the back.

 

I have to squeeze my way through crowds, some of them even attempt to seat me at their table. I’m shocked that there are some people who know who I am. I hear whistles and hoots and hollers for free Tarot Readings, but I shake my head and ignore them.

 

The table is small, tucked in a dark corner, but I throw my cloak over one of the wooden chairs to claim it before someone rushes over. I sit down and sigh, then, for some reason, I look over to where Julian is standing at the bar.

 

He’s smiling, his expression warm and comfortable. It contradicts what I think he _should_ feel out in public, then again, he was like this last time we were here. He was so – so _open,_ so _vulnerable_ – so different from the man who had barged into my Shop and nearly scared me to death.

 

I click my nails against the hard wood of the table as I wait impatiently.

 

It’s weird. I – I feel a hint of _irritation,_ as I stare at the back of his auburn head, and watch others make him smile like I never have. I let out a deep breath and remind myself not be selfish for attention, after all, he isn’t _required_ to bathe me in all his devotion and empathy.

 

Selfish. I’m _selfish. For what? For – For Julian’s eye to only be on me?_

I almost laugh at myself, then as a distraction, I look into the satchel at my hip to make sure Asra’s deck is still inside. When I touch it, the cards react, humming and fluttering with warmth. I ensure they’re all there, counting each one until –

 

“ – ‘ey, you!”

 

“Yes?”

 

_Oh no._

I look up to see a tall, broad, brawny man standing above me. He slams his fists on the table and I wince, my eyebrows raising as I put my hands up in surrender. The man doesn’t seem to care. He flexes his muscles and I notice tattoos on his arms, I remember them from before.

 

I remember _him_ from before. He came in for a reading, but all his energy was negative. The cards told him of a future he wasn’t too fond of and it became so heated that Asra had to cast a spell on him to make him leave. I have no idea what that spell was.

 

“You – Yous gave me a bad reading!” he hiccups, his breath reeks of liquor, as do his tattered and wet clothes.

 

“I simply told you what the cards told me,” I say calmly.

 

“Scam! You’re a cheat witch, you know! a con!”

 

“I didn’t – ,”

 

– I’m cut off as the burly man lifts one of his arms in the air, then aims his fist for me.

 

Instinct makes me cower, and though I attempt to slip out of the chair, I’m stuck in the corner. I must look like I fool, I muse in the two seconds I press myself against the wall and hide my head beneath my arms.

 

I wait for the inevitable impact, but it never comes. I swallow a lump in my throat, then listen past the pounding in my ears to hear dreadful silence. I slowly, _slowly_ look up to see –

 

“ – Julian?”

 

“If you’ve got a problem with the _witch,_ my friend, you have a problem with me.”

 

“Oh? and what’s a scrawny thing like you going to – ,”

 

– the drunkard hisses in pain as Julian twists his arm, only holding him by his wrist.

 

He takes out a knife from the inside of his coat and holds it above the sniveling man’s head. He pins him harder to the table with a strength I most definitely did _not_ expect. I don’t move and watch in excitement with the rest of the tavern as Julian leans close to beaten man’s ear.

 

“I’ll ask you to apologize nicely, once, and then to never show your face around here again.”

 

“I – I’m sorry, witch! I – I – I mean Apprentice! I’ll never bother yous again!”

 

“See, was that so hard?” Julian clicks his tongue, then releases the man, who scrambles off fast.

 

I watch in slight amusement as the drunkard crashes out of the tavern door. “That was – ,” I sigh, at a loss for words as he sits across from me, “ – interesting.”

 

He puts his knife back in his coat with ease, then reaches over to another table where he left our drinks. He takes two tankards then slides one over into my hands.

 

“I told you I could do interesting.”

 

“We haven’t even started talking yet!”

 

“Exactly,” he purrs, then winks at me as he sips his drink.

 

”You’re incorrigible,” I mutter softly. 

 

I stare down into the tankard. There’s a honey-colored liquid inside. I swish it around then meet his tempting gray eye, before lifting the tankard and downing a gulp. It burns my throat.

 

He laughs at me as I cough and spit out some of the drink, bent in half from how hard it hit me. The tavern returns to the cacophony it had in it before and all seems warmer and brighter. I clear my throat and pout, then snap my fingers to smother the fire of the melted candle between us to hide my flushed cheeks.

 

“Don’t drink much?”

 

“Not ever, really.”

 

“What a tragedy! Tell me you at least enjoy coffee?”

 

“Yes. I do.”

 

“So we have _something_ in common,” he murmurs, then rests his chin on his folded hands.

 

“I’m sure we could find a few more things,” I shrug, and run a hand through my wet hair.

 

“Oh? Like what?”

 

“Well – Wait, what about your speech on the concept of _forgiveness?”_

“It can wait,” he tells me, tilting his head so his curls bounce, “I’d rather talk about what _you_ and _I_ have in common.”

 

“We’ve both escaped from the Palace, running from the Guards,” I remind him.

 

“Ah. Yes! What else?”

 

“Hm – ,”

 

– I hum in thought, then shudder when I feel his knee brush mine.

 

_He has such long legs._

_Well, he is tall – and his hair is curly, his lips are crooked, his eye is alluring, focused on me –_

– _God, is he handsome?_

I choke on air at the thought. I decide to drink more, even though I detest the taste. He smiles at me beautifully and I flush. I think of other things we have in common, or try to, but with the way he’s staring at me I can’t seem to think _at all._


	3. III

“What about magic?”

 

“Magic?”

 

“Ye – Yes, you know, _magic.”_

“What about it, darling? Care to be more specific?”

 

I hiccup and choke on my words before they come out, then almost forget what I was about to tell him. I look around at the people who have convened around our little table in the corner. I’m not sure what it is that intrigues them so, me or Julian.

 

It seems he’s familiar with most of the patrons here. Even if I _did_ happen to know them, like that burly man who almost beat me up earlier, I wouldn’t be able to remember them now. The alcohol in my blood is too warm and too engulfing. It’s consumed any sense I once had.

 

The faces, the bodies, the clothes around me, they’re all blurred colors and hazy outlines. There are some stares on me, but most of them are on Julian, and all at once I feel _upset_ like a small part of me deep within has been lit on fire.

 

“Magic, you know,” I slur, then blink languidly, “like _this?”_

“Like wha – _oh,”_ he inhales sharply, and his eyebrows lift to his forehead.

The horde of people cramming around Julian gasp as I create a bright burst of light in the air, it looks like fire, but is harmless. I remember Asra taught it to me for some reason. I smile deviously as the bodies run off, shadows in the dim light.

 

The headache I have is dull, but now without all the chaos, it seems more prominent. I moan in obvious pain and slam my head on the wooden table, making tankards and plates tremble. He laughs affectionately at me, then I feel his bare hand rubbing the back of my skull, his fingers in my hair.

 

“What was that about?”

 

“Don’ – Don’ like people – alls – all around you – _oo_  – that feels nice.”

 

“How adorable,” he chuckles, “you only had _two_ drinks and you’re completely wasted.”

 

“Don’ – Don’t handle it well.”

 

“I can see that.”

 

“ _People.”_

“Oh. _Oh!_ my, my, was someone _jealous_?”

 

I press my face to the cool table, wanting to soothe the burn on my cheeks. I don’t lift my head because I don’t want him to see how _clearly_ upset I am – was. He tries to take his hand off me, but I flail one of my arms in the air until I latch onto his wrist.

 

I put his hand back on my head, his palm is warm and comforting. It eases some of the pain. I hum in delight as he rubs me again. I let my arm fall onto the table, limp and useless.

 

“Not – Not jealous,” I slur, “I don’t like people.”

 

“Mhm,” he hums, a _tease,_ “sure, dear, I’ll let you have this one.”

 

“But, as I said earlier,” I say to the table, “ _magic,_ you don’t like magic.”

 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand falters. “I – I don’t mind it, honestly,” he admits, “I suppose I just don’t feel comfortable with things I don’t understand. Magic is so – _emotional,_ it seems, full of mysteries and enigmas yet it all makes sense to people like you and – ,”

 

“ – Master?”

 

“Asra, yes. Why do you call him Master, by the way?”

 

I shrug. “I’ve always called him that,” I confess, “I’ve – I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. He’s been with me forever, taught me all I know. He deserves respect for that, I think, but he doesn’t like when I call him it.”

 

“Interesting,” he mutters. I can tell there’s something deeper, something more between _them,_ but I am far too out of it to hold onto a thought for more than a moment. I almost fall asleep, but then his nails scratch my scalp lightly. “I should take you back to your Shop,” he blurts out, “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

 

_Hours is not enough with him, I want more, more time alone, this isn’t fair –_

“ – this isn’t fair,” I whine.

 

“What isn’t?” he laughs.

 

“I wanted to spend time with you.”

 

“We – We did. Didn’t we? or has this all been some lucid dream?”

 

“ _Alone._ I – I wanted to be alone with you!”

 

“O – Oh. I – Uh – I see. Well – ,”

 

– he mumbles incoherently to himself. I look up slowly and squint my eyes, he’s _blushing_ furiously.

 

“Do you not want to spend time with me?” I murmur.

 

“What? No! I - I mean _yes_ I do, but - ah,” he exclaims, then lets out a deep breath, “let’s – let’s just get you back to your Shop.”

 

He stands up, then walks around the table behind me. He takes my cloak off the back of the chair and throws it over me, snug and safe, and then he attempts to help me stand.

 

I remember two important things as he puts one of his arms around my waist, and slides one of mine around his neck to support me. I yank him down when he tries to turn and leave, then stand on the toes of my boots to whisper in his ear.

 

_Forgiveness –_

– _and, I shouldn’t go back to the Shop. I can’t._

“Julian,” I say in a quiet tone. He shudders. “I’d forgive you,” I slur, “I – I like you. I’d forgive you for whatever you did.”

 

He blanches, his cheery mood dampening instantly. He looks at me like the whole world has turned dark, like I am all there is and he can’t believe I even exist. “I – I need to get you back,” he stammers, “Asra will kill me if – ,”

 

“ – Asra isn’t there. I can feel it. I – I need to be at the Palace, anyway.”

 

“The – The _Palace?_ Then what in God’s name were you doing out in the back alleys?”

 

“I _was_ heading to the Shop, but just to – to pick up some herbs.”

 

“Oh. Well – ,”

 

“ – can you help me get them?” I ask, not sure where the words came from. I don’t want to be alone, I suppose, and that stupid selfish part of me wants more time with him.

 

“I – I shouldn’t – ,” he croaks, then clears his throat, “ – I mean, are you sure Asra won’t be there?”

 

“His presence is far off. I’m sure.”

 

“But if you need to be at the Palace – ,”

 

“ – I need those herbs!” I state sassily, “help me, _please,_ I’m begging you, Julian. I need your help. I need you to – to – I need you.”

 

He flushes crimson all over. His one gray eye widens, and I’m sure, under the black eyepatch he always wears, the other is too. I can only imagine what both of his beautiful eyes would look like, shimmering in candlelight.

 

He looks around the tavern, as if thinking over something crucial, then seems to make a decision when he reaches into his coat and takes out a pouch with clinking coins inside. He throws it onto the table. He picks his leather gloves off the table, but simply shoves them into a pocket in his coat.

 

His eye then meets mine, and I lurch a bit, so he holds me tighter.

 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he tells me, “I’ll walk you to your Shop, but I – I can’t help you get to the Palace.”

 

“It’s – It’s fine,” I mumble, though deep down, I’m not sure how I’ll do it, “I understand. I just – I need those herbs.”

 

“What are they for?”

 

“I’ll – I’ll tell you if we make it there.”

 

“ _When_ we make it there,” he corrects, then tightens his hold around my waist. I let out a soft moan.

 

“Mm,” I hum, then lean closer to him, “uh – ,”

 

“ – did – did I hurt you?”

 

“No. No. That – That felt nice.”

 

I nuzzle the inside of his coat, made of a red silk that’s smooth to the touch. He smells of leather, smoke, coffee, and something just _him._ It drowns me in emotions I don’t have the mental capacity to evaluate. I almost fall over again, so lost in him.

 

His hold pulsates, from tight, to weak, back to tight. He settles on something in between. He takes one step, and I follow, but stumble over myself. I laugh but he doesn’t. He sighs and flips his auburn curls away from his one eye.

 

“This won’t work,” he points out, “here, I’ll – ,”

 

“ – wait, I can – ,” I’m cut off as he bends down, scoops me into his arms, then holds me tight.

 

I flush. The whole world has spun around, upside down, and all I can see are brilliant lights.

 

“You’re so _strong,_ Doctor,” I tease.

 

“Two drinks,” he mutters to himself, “you had _two_ drinks, and _this_ happened.”

 

“Are you mad at me? You sound mad.”

 

“No, darling, I’m mad at myself. I doubt you’ll remember any of this come morning.”

 

The thought of that makes me oddly sad. I fall into silence as the upside-down world sways back and forth, drifting father and farther, the noise becomes less and less loud.

 

Within moments, I hear a door close and all the lights die out, dimming to blackness. The sounds hush too, to nothing but light rain.

 

“Julian? Did you leave me?”

 

“I’m carrying you, how could I _possibly_ leave you?”

 

I let my eyes slip shut. “Don’t leave me, please,” I mumble, “I’m tired of being alone.”

 

The rain is cold as it splatters my face, in time with his bootsteps. “I won’t leave you,” he whispers, almost so quiet I don’t hear him, but I _do,_ “I promise.”


	4. IV

With him, I feel –

 

“ – whoa, careful Shopkeep.”

 

“I’m _perfectly_ careful.”

 

Warm.

 

Safe.

 

Like I’m –

 

“ – can you get it?”

 

“Hush. Hush. I – I’ve got this.”

 

Falling. Falling and he, he’s falling with me. It’s exhilarating and wonderful and so _Heavenly._

“Here, allow me.”

 

“ _Doctor,_ I told you I – ,”

 

“ – please, we don’t have all night,” he laughs, then takes the keyring out of my hand.

 

“I – I had it,” I slur.

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I did! You’re so mean to me.”

 

“Oh yes, _I’m_ mean for carrying you all the way back to your Shop in the middle of the night.”

 

“You’re mean for _teasing_ me. You – You _teaser.”_

He smirks at me over his shoulder and a moment later, the lock to the Shop _clicks_ as he turns the key. He hands the keyring to me and I stick my tongue out at him, then rush inside. I almost trip over the threshold, but one of his arms is quick to wrap around me, pressing me to his chest.

 

I throw my head back and look up at him. Hair is stuck to my face, wet black tresses that he brushes behind my ears as I stare into his eye.

 

“I swear I’m not normally this inept,” I tell him.

 

“I’m sure you aren’t,” he says softly, then leans forward, as if to kiss my forehead, but pulls back.

 

His gray eye shimmers under the moonlight. I tilt my head to the side, snuggling against him. He encases my lithe frame entirely, and is so tall that I have to stand on the tip of my boots just to be able to smell the scent of oil and smoke on the skin of his neck.

 

“Your other eye,” I mumble, then look at the black eyepatch over his right eye. His auburn curls are hiding most of it, and he turns his head when I look at it closer. “What happened?” I ask quietly.

 

“Oh – You know,” he huffs out a misty breath, “had a dagger thrown into it.”

 

 _“What?_ Really?”

 

“Yes. It’s quite an epic tale, perhaps I’ll tell it to you when you’re not falling all over the place.”

 

I narrow my eyes at him. His voice pitched higher a bit. He didn’t look at me when he spoke.

 

“You’re lying,” I accuse.

 

“ _Me?_ Lie? Hah!” he mocks me, then smiles suavely, “I lie all the time, dear, it makes life far more interesting.”

 

“How could you live a life of lies?”

 

“Quite easily, in all truth.”

 

“Truth? I thought you _always_ lied?”

 

“Oh. Ha-Ha. You’re funny when you’re drunk out of your mind, you know.”

 

“You shouldn’t lie,” I whisper, then arch into his embrace, “at least, not to _me.”_

“And why,” he breathes, then hesitates when he looks down and our lips almost brush, “shouldn’t I lie to _you?”_

“Because I – I want to know the real you, the real Doc – Julian.”

 

“I’m afraid you’ll be terribly disappointed if you did.”

 

“Try me,” I coax, then part my lips.

 

He parts his lips too, then I feel his breath mingle with mine. “You should hurry and get those herbs,” he says, as his cheeks flush with warmth.

 

_He’s pushing me away, again._

_I swear I’m going to –_

_“ – squeeze!”_

“Squeeze?” I hiccup, then look forward just in time to notice Faust on the floor of the Shop.

 

“Oh no,” he groans behind me, then I feel his presence disappear.

 

I _almost_ fall over, _again,_ but I manage to somehow stumble into the Shop and rest on a counter. I look back outside to see Julian – the smooth, composed, unruffled Doctor attempting to run from a _snake._ I stifle a chuckle with my hand over my mouth, watching as she coils around his leg.

 

“No. No. No – ,”

 

“ – _squeeze!”_

I bend over laughing. The more time passes, the more twisted Faust becomes around him.

 

He attempts to pull her off from his leg, but the more he pulls, the tighter she holds him. He collapses at the knee and looks at me helplessly from outside.

 

“Help me.”

 

“She’s just giving you a hug, Doctor.”

 

“ _Shopkeep,_ get this snake off me!”

 

“I can’t _command_ Asra’s Familiar!”

 

The red in Faust’s eyes twinkle as she starts to yank him inside the Shop, she slithers across the stone and takes him with her. The moment he’s past the threshold she releases him and he staggers forward, directly on top of me.

 

He barely catches himself in time, his hands clutching the counter. His lips are an inch from mine as I stare up at him, my hands stuck where they are pressed against his chest. His black overcoat is slightly wet from the rain. His curls drip droplets of water onto me, the only movement between us.

 

“I – I’m sorry, I – ,”

 

“Julian, wait.”

 

The kohl around his eye has bled. I reach up slowly and wipe the black smear away with my thumb, but only ruin it more. He looks at my thumb and that beautiful pink color returns to his cheeks, making my heart flutter.

 

“Don’t mind it, I’m always a mess,” he says, with a hint of sarcasm, but also – hurt?

 

“You’re not a mess,” I soothe, then caress his jawline with my stained thumb.

 

“I am. More than you’ll ever know.”

 

“I could know, if you’d let me.”

 

His eye widens. He focuses his stare on me, then looks down, all the way to my ankle.

 

“How’s your ankle?”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – tripping over things won’t help it heal,” he sighs, interrupting me. He bends down.

 

“It’s fine,” I say, but then hiss when he twists it gently, “ _Doctor.”_

“It’s not fine. You’re hurt.”

 

“I – I swear, it’s fine. _I’m_ fine.”

 

He’s not listening to me.

 

_I want to slap some sense into him so badly –_

“ – hold still,” he demands. His voice has turned dark and serious.

 

I swallow, the taste of whatever I drank still in my mouth. “Wh – _y,”_ I let out a noise of pain.

 

There’s a flash of bright, white light. It’s emitting from his neck, a symbol that I can’t see too clearly in my dazed state. I’m sure I – I _know_ it from somewhere, or someone, but each time the memory comes closer to realization, it’s clouded by a soreness in the back of my mind.

 

He wraps his bare hands around my ankle, and this is when I notice a tattoo on the back of one of his hands. It’s familiar, but not. The more I attempt to remember the more I suffer.

 

_Have I met him before?_

_Before – Before I lost everything?_

_Do I – Do I know him? What if – What if I do, and can’t remember? What if –_

“ – Shopkeep? What’s – What’s wrong? You’re turning pale.”

 

“I – I don’t – don’t know.”

 

There’s blackness creeping toward the edges of my vision.

 

I feel weak, too feeble to hold myself up, and so, I fall to the floor clumsily. I clutch my cloak and satchel to make sure I don't lose anything.

 

_Remember. Remember. I want to remember –_

“ – hey, hey, stay with me now, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

 

“No. You – You didn’t. I just – ,”

 

– I move my ankle, then I twist it around. It feels fine, like normal.

 

I also notice that he’s limping on one of his ankles, and his expression is contorted in – worry? pain? fear? I’m not entirely sure, but he’s so close and I know, if I could just pull him closer, I could _remember_ what I’ve forgotten.

 

He presses two of his cold, wet fingers to the pulse in my neck. His auburn brows furrow together. He looks down at Faust, who is slithering to him with a bundle of herbs in her mouth. The herbs I came here for.

 

_“Give!”_

“Give? Give – Give how? What do I do?”

 

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I can’t even lift my arm to take the herbs.

 

The look on his face is more terrifying than what I’m experiencing. This, I’ve felt before, but only with Asra and he’s – he’s used to it, by now, but Julian –

 

“ – _chew!”_

“Chew? I – I have to _chew_ these?”

 

_Chew. Breathe. Swallow. Drink something afterward._

I remember Asra’s words, his method for quieting the headaches. This is a severe one, like I’ve never felt before, because I don’t want to let this disappear. I don’t want to forget. I _can’t_ forget him. I reach out to touch him, to tell him, but he’s already taken the herbs from Faust.

 

He looks at me with his one eye. The world blurs, pulses –

 

– _I remember._

“It’s alright, darling,” he smiles, “ _Doctor Devorak_ will take care of you.”

 

“Wait,” I croak, but it’s too late, he’s chewing the sage green herbs already.

 

It’s moments later when his lips are on mine. The taste of him is drowned out by the mint aroma of the herbs, their potency so powerful that I feel myself easing into relaxation within seconds. His tongue is warm as it slides against mine, rubbing the liquid left behind by the herbs all over.

 

_No. No. No –_

– _I’m going to forget, now. I don’t want to forget._

He retracts from the kiss flushed, overcome, and _aroused,_ the pupil of his one eye dilated.

 

He then, after a while of stillness in time, caresses my cheek with his thumb.

 

“Better?”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – _sleep!”_

I close my eyes, unable to help it. The mixture of alcohol, herbs, questions, and memories swirling around inside me all collide together. The last sensation I feel is that of soft, minty lips on the center of my forehead.

 

_Damn it all –_

– _I want more time with you, I want to know you, I want to – to remember you._

But he, like much of my life, fades as the darkness arises.


	5. V

There’s a warm, tender hand on my bare skin.

 

“Julian,” I slur sleepily, then roll around in my dream-like trance.

 

“Apprentice?” his voice? _no_ – this is too sweet, too feminine.

 

The hand on my shoulder lightly pushes me once, twice, and then a third time. I mumble and groan, then attempt to open my eyes only to have them slip shut again. The pain throbbing at the back of my skull is intense, powerful, but far different from one of my normal headaches.

 

_What happened?_

_What is this headache I have from?_

“Apprentice? are – are you alright? should I fetch someone?”

 

“Mm, who – ?”

 

“It’s – It’s Portia! The Countess’ Handmaiden. Haven’t forgotten me already, have you?”

 

“Uh – N – No. Sorry. Give me a moment.”

 

I roll onto my back sluggishly as she claps her hands in excitement. The noise makes me flinch. I lay there limp and pliant, then almost _scream_ when she pulls open curtains covering a large window. The sunlight that beams in blinds me and worsens the pain, making my temples pulse.

 

The room is familiar. I look around a few times, ensuring myself where I am.

 

_The Palace. The Guest Room, specifically, but how?_

I swallow a thick lump in my throat. The taste of something horribly bitter and viscous sticks to the inside of my mouth. It’s reminiscent of alcohol but – _I don’t drink?_ – or at least, I don’t usually.

 

“Milady is suffering from headaches today so, I’m afraid, you won’t be able to see her.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“But you have the day off! all to yourself! You may do whatever you please.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“It would likely be a good idea to begin the investigation, at least, find _something_ – ,”

 

“ – yes, mhm, uh – Portia, I’m afraid _I’m_ also suffering from a terrible headache. So if you could – ,”

 

“ – oh, forgive me!” she squeals, then hurries to shut the curtains. The room darkens. I sigh.

 

“It’s fine,” I mutter, “I – I don’t really know why I have a headache.”

 

_Unless, this was somehow Asra’s doing –_

_– maybe he tried to do something in our dreams I can’t remember._

It seems the most logical idea, although it doesn’t explain several enigmas.

 

There’s a dull stiffness in the muscles of one of my ankles.

 

I reek of booze and smoke and leather and – and _coffee?_ and so does my breath.

 

I don’t remember _anything_ from last night. Which, with who I am, shouldn’t surprise me, but –

 

_– this doesn’t seem like a state Asra would leave me in._

I watch Portia as she hurries around the room. There’s a nervousness in her step, also in the way she keeps nibbling at her lower lip. I shift on the bed and realize I’m naked. This realization makes my jaw clench shut and whatever I was about to say, falls to silence.

 

_Naked? Really? When did I take off my clothes?_

_Dear God what did I do?_

I flush with heat. The tension in the air seems thicker. I avoid her ocean blue eyes as she organizes some items on a silver tray over at a desk. This, somehow, makes me notice a small roll of parchment laying on the pillow beside the one I had claimed during the night.

 

I pick it up with caution, then unroll it. From within, several stalks of the sage green herbs I _vaguely_ remember needing the afternoon before land on my lap. I sniff them to make sure and – _yes_ – there is no mistaking the herbs that Master allows me to use for my headaches.

 

I hold the parchment open and squint to read it in the lowlight, using what sun is still peeking in through the curtains. I’m taken back when I don’t see Asra’s familiar script. This handwriting is appallingly unreadable and chaotic, with several sentences scratched out.

 

> _It was lovely seeing the less-poised side of you last night. I’ll treasure the memory forever, darling._
> 
> _– J_

I ponder for a few moments, while I listen to the sound of tea being poured into a glass cup. I read the words, over and over, and even though my mind is at its slowest it rushes with thoughts. In my chest, my heart is pounding, beating so hard it’s thumping in my neck.

 

_J?_

_J – J – Who is – ?_

I shudder, then let the parchment flutter to the floor as I gasp loudly.

 

_Julian._

“Apprentice? something wrong?”

 

“Hm? No! No. Nothing is uh – wrong.”

 

_Besides the fact I apparently had a lovely night with a man I’m supposed to turn in for murder –_

“ – are you sure? You’ve turned quite pale, almost green,” she points out, worried.

 

I let out a slow breath as she approaches me. When she bends down to pick up the parchment, I leap off the soft bed and snatch it before she can. “I – I’m fine,” I stammer, “just a – had a rough night, sort of.”

 

“I can tell. Is – Is there anything I can do for you?”

 

“Could I – Could I take a bath? Is that – am I allowed to do that here?”

 

“Of course!” she says, her smile bright as her fluffy, auburn curls bounce around. Her white dress is stained with dirt, I notice, the gold embroidery is ruffled and the black tie around her neck is undone. _Odd._ “You do – smell – a bit, I’ll take you to the Countess’ private Baths,” she tells me.

 

I reach up to cover my exposed breasts, anxious at the idea that _he_ saw – “ – um, do you have something I can wear?” I ask sheepishly, “so I’m not prancing around the halls completely naked?”

 

“Yes! Yes. I have some robes. I’ll go fetch them. Breakfast is over there, on that tray. Do eat.”

 

“Okay. Thank you, uh – Portia.”

 

I stare at her, a little too long, and then a little longer.

 

The way her blue eyes are sparkling tell me she has something on her mind. It seems she is torn between blurting out something and holding it in forever. I wait to see if she ever speaks. We both remain in pure, agonizing silence for a while.

 

I glance down at the parchment in my hands. _It’s her brother,_ I remind myself, _maybe – maybe she’ll understand? maybe she knows what happened? Oh, but what if she doesn’t and then –_ I exhale a breath, whistling as I do.

 

“Portia?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can – Can I ask you something? It’s – sort of private.”

 

“Does it have to do with the investigation?”

 

I muse for a moment, inside my mind.

 

_Well it does have to do with its wanted man –_

“ – I guess?” I shrug, “it’s – it’s about your uh – Juli – _Doctor Devorak.”_

“Ah,” she clears her throat, but seems relieved, “what of him?”

 

“Did you happen to see him last night?”

 

“Last – Last night? No! No. I – I mean, only for a – a moment and – and he uh – ,”

 

“ – you saw him?” I interrupt, “what was he doing?”

 

Her cheeks burn with heat, then she leans close to whisper in my ear. “He was here,” she murmurs, “in – _in_ here, right in your room! I could hardly believe it. I – I heard the commotion and thought it was your handsome Magician friend, but – ,”

 

“ – it was Ju – the Doctor?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What – What was he _doing?”_

“He was – _holding_ you.”

 

“ _Holding_ me?”

 

“Carrying you, more specifically.”

 

I am entirely stunned for a few minutes. I don’t speak, move, or even breathe.

 

“Carrying me,” I repeat quietly, “into – _my own room?”_

“Yes,” she says, then wipes her palms on the skirts of her dress, “you – you were a bit out of it.”

 

“What?”

 

“Drunk. You were drunk.”

 

“Oh. What in the Bloody Name Of – ,”

 

“ – you don’t remember what happened?”

 

The space between us has suddenly closed. I can feel her breath on my nose.

 

“Uh – No,” I tell her honestly, “I – I was hoping you might know.”

 

“Oh,” she hums, clearly disappointed, “no, my br – _he_ ran off before I could even say a word, and that’s just like him, too! Gah, Ilya. Sometimes I really hate him.”

 

The air turns eerily hushed with a breath.

 

I look around, she does too, and then I take her hand and hold it in mine.

 

_“My. My. My. Look at this, the little Apprentice –_

_– so, you’re Asra’s favored one? The one he loves so very, very dearly –_

_– how delightful.”_

I shiver as the voice creeps underneath my skin. It’s familiar, strangely, like an old wound, being scratched open and made raw. I expel the unknown presence with a spell Master taught me a long, long time ago.

 

The magic in the line between reality and not-reality shifts, then it becomes warmer. I fill it with what I remember, what banishes dark beings, dark thoughts, dark auras –

 

_– auburn curls, one gray eye, flushed pale skin, soft, tentative, sweet lips on mine –_

_–_ and then, the presence has disappeared.

 

I look at her and she looks at me, then squeezes my hand in thrill.

 

“How interesting! Was that magic? Did you just use magic?”

 

“Er, yes. I did. Did you hear the voice too?”

 

“A little,” she admits, “what – what was it? Was it one of your magic tricks?”

 

The color drains from my face. I decide to plaster on a smile. “Yes,” I lie, “sorry if it scared you.”

 

“It didn’t. I’ll go get the robes for you! Make sure you eat.”

 

“Will do.”

 

The moment she leaves the room and the door shuts, I slump on my back onto the plush bed. The silks and furs that touch my skin are smooth and rich in texture. I spend what feels like hours attempting to remember what happened, before I left this bed, but it’s all a cloudy haze.

 

I crumple the parchment in my palm. I crush and wrinkle it, listening to the sounds it makes.

 

Then I sit up.

 

I look down at my fist.

 

I look at the desk with the silver tray of tea, biscuits, and fine fruit on it.

 

I brush sticky, wet hair from my cheeks and slowly, _slowly_ slide off the bed –

 

_– I don’t care. I don’t care. I’m not going to read it! I’m not._

I take two steps before I smooth out the parchment and read it, over and over and over.


	6. VI

The books are old. _His_ books. I touch them and feel his presence.

 

The ink has faded. The parchment is curling around the edges. His handwriting is barely decipherable, but even after years, it has remained as it was written, untouched. The dust that covers all he had inscribed has kept it sealed, forgotten by the rest of the world.

 

There are memories haunting the air. Each one is almost palpable, a temptation for me to lose myself in. There is so much here that I could find, if I had the time, spirit, and self-control.

 

_“No. No. No. This won’t work, will it?”_

His voice. I shudder when I hear it.

 

The shiver that floods through me is unexpected _,_ a touch, deep within, baring my soul. It's  _his_ effect on me. 

 

The draft in the Library creeps over my skin. It’s remarkably cold, a dark place that has been left and locked up for too long. The windows are all shut tight with thick curtains drawn over them, allowing in no sunlight. The candles won’t let me light them, my magic is suffocated.

 

I take in a deep breath and look around where I am. It was from his desk I heard his voice, a past time, a memory that _wants_ to be remembered.

 

_“What if I try – no, that would make it lethal, but what if – no. Not that either.”_

His desk is scattered with papers, tomes, books, inkwells, and quills. It’s all so _him_ that I swear I can almost see him sitting in the wooden chair half-tucked under the desk. I take a moment to glance at a few of his medical records.

 

Memories flash in front of me.

 

The room is warmer. The windows are open, letting in pleasant, balmy night air. The stars shimmer outside.

 

Books are not covered in dust. Candles are lit. Pools of black ink stain the floor.

 

He paces back and forth across the Library, all alone. I feel an odd sensation when I see him, the need to comfort, to tell him he’s not alone, but I am not really here. _What is past is past._ I stand still and watch, silent.

 

_“Ah! No. No. This won’t work either. Hm. What am I doing wrong? What could I be doing so wrong?”_

He cards his long, thin fingers through his auburn curls. He looks terrible. He’s wan and drained of all color except pallid white. The veins in his neck are pulsing. His palm, one of them, is over his black eyepatch as if he wants to tear it off.

 

He crumples the parchment in his hand and throws it across the Library. It piles with a thousand others just like it. I swallow a lump in my throat.

 

He looks mad. Not the livid, lack-of-control kind, but the kind that drowns one in lunacy.

 

_“I can’t. I can’t. This is all my fault, all because I can’t – ,”_

_“ – Ilya?”_

_“Asra?”_

_“You need to rest. You haven’t slept in a week."_

 

_"I know, but the Plague - ,"_

 

_" - you'll die of sleep deprivation before the Plague takes anyone else. Come on."_

 

_How well do Asra and Julian know each other?_

I remember the night I met Jul – _Doctor Devorak,_ he broke into the Shop looking specifically for Master. It’s obvious they know each other, I’m just not sure exactly _how_ or _what_ the circumstances are of it all.

 

Pain weakens me, a headache behind my eyes. I fall into the unstable, old chair at the desk. I look to see the Library is back to how it is now, dark and bleak.

 

I sigh in irritation. There are so many questions I have, I can’t even remember them all.

 

I lean over the desk and rest my hands on it. It seems I’ve drained what magic I had left inside me after such a sleepless night. Left feeling despondent, I take the black silk ribbon around my wrist and use it to tie up my wet hair.

 

Droplets of cold water drip onto my back. The clothes I was told to wear after my bath are thin, stuck to the wet surface of my skin. The fabric itches slightly. The sweater does little to keep me warm, and the leggings are far too fine compared to the rough material I am used to.

 

_I can do this –_

_– I have to. I need answers._

I take the crumpled parchment I shoved into my breastband out. I use it to sense him, the him that lives now. His words call out to me, raw and wicked, and I respond with a rush of emotion.

 

_Tell me. Tell me. Tell me more. I need to know, Julian, who were you before?_

I hear a voice, but not the one I want. This one is in reality. It pulls me from the dream-trance.

 

The voice is echoing from outside, over the lush treetops in the Garden. It sounds familiar. I take one last glance at his desk, his possessions, before standing up and walking over to a massive window over a broad hearth.

 

The curtain puffs out dust when I push it aside. Vines and florae flinch from me.

 

“Shoo! Shoo! You know you’re not welcome here.”

 

_“Me? Not welcome? I own this Palace!”_

 

_Is that Portia? who is with her?_

Her vivid auburn curls are visible through the murky window. The Garden below is filled with life, all kinds, from humans to plants, even to something I don’t quite understand. I lean my forehead against the cool glass and peek out.

 

I don’t see another person, though, I can hardly see her at all. Just her hair, which reminds me a bit of a man I wish I could just forget about. I look down at the note in my hand, the one he left me, then the voices return, louder.

 

“I will not wait here all day. I _will_ set Pepi on you.”

 

_“How dare! You are a mere servant! Do you know who I am? Who you’re talking to?”_

The other voice sounds hushed, like a whisper, something only I should be able to hear. What I perceive outside is similar to squawking. I’m not sure what Portia hears, and honestly, I’m not sure what _I_ hear. I rub the insides of my ears to make sure I’m not insane.

 

“If you don’t move, I’ll be roasting you for dinner!”

 

_“Hah! We shall see! When I have more power, oh – you will be the first one to suffer!”_

_Suffer._ I shiver. That doesn’t sound like a hollow threat.

 

I fear for a moment that Portia is in trouble. The silence that comes after more screeching and branches rustling only worsens my unease. The air becomes colder. There’s a sick, swirling awareness in my stomach that makes me back up.

 

I stare at Julian’s desk. I have so much to look through, so much to read and understand.

 

_But Portia, what if she needs me?_

_But Julian –_

_But Portia –_

“ – damn it,” I mutter, then rush to the door that leads out of the Library.


	7. VII

The Garden is lush and full of exotic life. Plants. Flowers. Animals. Insects.

 

_With a hint of magic –_

_– how beautiful, does the Countess even know what she possesses?_

The cacophony of nature around me fades as I delve deeper and deeper into the Garden. Colors become more vivid. Leaves. Branches. Warm, undulating sunlight peeks through all the verdure, then blinds me as I pass several tall, old trees and enter a spacious, well-kept clearing.

 

“Portia?”

 

“A – Apprentice? Is that you?”

 

I’m not sure where I am, but there’s a small cottage in the center of an overflowing garden that surrounds it. Fruits. Vegetables. Flowers. _Lots_ of vibrant, beautiful flowers. Even here I sense the faint touch of magic.

 

I look away from the vivacious colors and lights before me, at erratic movement beside me. It’s a white bird – a cockatoo, _if I’m not mistaken –_ and it’s clearly upset with Portia. It’s keeping itself on top of a small shed, overtaken by vines and lianas.

 

“Pepi! Come get this bird for me,” Portia shouts.

 

“Pe – Pi?” I mutter.

 

Within a few moments, a cream-colored cat with a dark face hops on her shoulder. The cat has bright blue eyes that sparkle as she swipes at the bird. The cockatoo shrieks before deciding to spread its wings, claw at Portia’s auburn curls, then fly into the clear sky above. Pepi runs off after it. 

 

“ _I will not be treated this way for long! No one will forget me! I’ll make them remember! All of you will!”_

“That damn bird. I despise him so much.”

 

I take a moment to divide in my mind what I heard. Portia’s voice, but also – _who was that?_

_That definitely wasn’t a normal bird._

_I should tell Master –_

“ – Apprentice! Yes. Sorry about that. What are you doing here?” Portia asks, anxious.

 

“I – Uh,” I clear my throat, “heard some commotion. Thought you were in trouble.”

 

“Oh! How kind of you. Reminds me of Ilya. He’s so _self-sacrificing_ too. Sometimes it’s annoying.”

 

“I can see him being like that.”

 

_He is so very like that, isn’t he?_

_I can see it now._

I smile, she does too. We both laugh to fill the silence.

 

“I’m a little surprised to see someone here. It isn’t exactly an easy spot to find.”

 

“I – Uh – Just followed the noise. The bird was loud.”

 

“Ah,” she hums, then looks down at my bare feet, “oh my! Your feet! They must hurt now.”

 

“It’s fine,” I tell her, as I brush rocks and leaves off my smudged feet.

 

“Do you want to rest on the porch?”

 

“Hm?

 

I look at her to see she’s gesturing to the cottage in the middle of all this untouched life. Her smile is radiant and proud. Her cheeks are tinted pink, a warm flush.

 

_Must be her place._

 

_I see. I see. Maybe she’s hiding Julian in there?_

The sudden idea of Julian being _right in there_ has me dazed. I have to shake myself out of it.

 

“Here, come rest on the porch,” she says, “just watch out for the GraspGourds. They’re quite active today. I’ve been grabbed three times already.”

 

I notice one of the vines on the shed reaches out for her ankle. “I’ll be sure to watch out,” I mutter.

 

_Ask her about Julian. Ask her about Julian._

_There have to be answers I can find._

The voice in my mind is far braver than the one I have to use to speak. I remain eerily silent as she leads me to a wooden porch in front of her cottage. Leaning against the exterior is a carved log, and so, without another choice, I sit down on it.

 

The sun is warm against my skin. Blazing. Like fire, almost.

I shift a little bit. I know my pale skin will burn in an instant if I remain still too long in the heat.

 

“Do you burn too?” she laughs at me, “my! You and Ilya have so much in common.”

 

“He burns?” I muse aloud, “it’d be interesting to see him all red and sore.”

 

“It’s rather funny. He hides himself, so insecure, so silly.”

 

“Yes. Silly. So – Um – About – About Julian – ,”

 

 _–_ she stiffens her posture after she picks up a metal rake. Her hands slowly brush dirt off of it.

 

“Julian?” she murmurs, “Ilya. Yes. What about him?”

 

“Uh – ,” I falter – _basic, be simple –_ , “he’s your brother? I’ve noticed you call him Ilya.”

 

Her expression suddenly darkens to shock and pain. Memories. Pain. It all comes back to her and I can see it, so I look away, at two birds pecking at each other on a tree branch. I feel ashamed for doing this but I feel I must.

 

_It’s the only way for answers._

_Since no one else will give me any._

_Not Asra. Not Julian himself. What am I to do?_

“Yes. He is. Which reminds me, I’m sorry about that scene I caused outside your Shop,” she says.

 

I reminisce for a moment on the times he’s broken into the Shop. “Were you surprised?” I ask.

 

“Yes. I did not expect him to – to be there. _Right there._ He was so close, so different, but still the same and – and I – I couldn’t stop myself.”

 

“It’s fine. I was a little shocked too. I vaguely remember him as Doctor Jules, but – ,”

 

“ – I’ve heard rumor your memories are not all there,” she interrupts.

 

“Uh – Yes,” I admit, “I tend to forget much of what I haven’t already forgotten.”

 

“That’s a shame. I’m sorry. Do you feel like you knew Ilya? Be – Before?”

 

“Maybe. As the Count’s Doctor, a murderer, nothing more.”

 

_Nothing more._

_Maybe._

_What a lie. His presence is familiar. I’m sure I must know him more than I think I do._

I look at her to see she’s absentmindedly raking at nothing.

 

Her eyes are dull, she’s so lost in thought I don’t want to take her out of it.

 

“He’s always been dramatic,” she murmurs after a while, “I’m glad he hasn’t changed much.”

 

“He didn’t tell you he was here, then?” I venture, “was your meeting at the Shop – ?”

 

“ – our first in many, many years. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing here. He’s mad. I apologize in advance for whatever trouble he causes you, because he _will_ cause trouble. It follows him like a storm cloud. I should have slapped him for coming back.”

 

“I would have liked to have seen that.”

 

We smile at each other. The dark mood fades, replaced by her cheerful smile.

 

Her blue eyes glimmer with optimism. The rake she has in her hands _actually_ rakes leaves as she moves, an eagerness in her step. Her palms are rubbed on her apron when they become sweaty, and I watch, enraptured by her ability to alter the tension so well.

 

“I – I didn’t know you two knew each other,” she confesses, then brushes auburn curls behind her ear as they fall out of the tie. Her teeth bite her lower lip. “I mean, when I saw him holding you, I thought he was _stealing_ you from the Palace, but then I realized – ,”

 

“ – we – _I_ – did something with him,” I tell her, “I just don’t remember what.”

 

“Hm. Well, from the smell you were exuding, I’d daresay you went out for drinks.”

 

“God help me if I did. I’m supposed to be _hunting_ him.”

 

She stares at me with interest in her pupils. “Tell me,” she says, then winks, “did you first meet him before or after Milady hired you to bring him in to hang?”

 

“I – I first met him the night the Countess came to see me,” I sigh, “he came shortly after she left, and they _both_ came after Master left. It was a – weird night, to be sure.”

 

“Sounds like it. How fun, though!”

 

“Yes. _Fun.”_

The memory of Julian that night won’t leave me alone. I can’t remember whatever it was we did that made me smell like a brewery, but I remember him barging into the Shop like it’s happening over and over in my thoughts.

 

_His mask, glassy red eyes, piercing my soul –_

_– a plague Doctor’s mask. Why was he wearing it? To hide who he was? or make it more obvious?_

I sigh. Too much to think about. I still have a slight hangover, and a headache from my magic use.

 

Pain pulses in my temples as I think about it. Her eyes focus on me.

 

“Why didn’t you tell Milady?”

 

“W – What?”

 

Her gaze sharpens. “You didn’t tell the Countess,” she murmurs, “about Ilya. You could have – you could have turned him in effortlessly by now.”

 

“I suppose I could,” I say. The words sound odd aloud.

 

_Turn him in?_

_How could I?_

“Will you?”

 

“No.”

 

Her eyes widen. “You sound so sure,” she points out.

 

“I – I don’t want to condemn a man on no information,” I exhale, “sure, the Countess is positive it is him, but that doesn’t mean I have to be. The whole world could think it’s him but I can still think it’s not, at least until he’s proven to be the murderer.”

 

“You know, I like you,” she smiles impishly at me, “you don’t want blood on your hands, but you’re not running either. You’re _trying._ I don’t remember the last time someone tried to help Ilya who wasn’t me.”

 

“I – I’ll do what I can, but if he _is_ responsible – ,”

 

“ – I understand, I’m just so pleased to hear you’re willing to clean up his mess. I have a feeling that with you around, his luck will be blessed. It’ll all be alright in the end.”

 

I blush. The sensation of overwhelming heat takes me, but it’s not the sun, or the balmy air.

 

It’s emotion. _Floods_ of emotion. Warm emotions. Pleasant ones. Ones that have me smiling.

 

_Emotion –_

_– when was the last time I felt this nice?_

“Portia.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Thank you,” I whisper.

 

“What else am I here for, other than pep talks and gardening?” she laughs sweetly.

 

“You’re here for much more than that, I’m sure.”

 

“And I’m sure you’re right, but we’ll just keep that between us, hm?”

 

I nod in silent understanding. Her smile turns up at the sun, which is low in the sky already.

 

Faint dapples of dimming light shine off the sweat on her brow. The smell of herbs and fruits arise with a soft breeze that flutters my loose sweater and leggings. I take in the scent as she approaches me, the rake in one hand, her other outstretched.

 

“I should get back to work,” she says, “but it was – lovely, talking to you.”

 

“You too,” I mumble. Her hand is warm when I shake it.

 

Her whole body is warm, I come to find out as she lifts me and pulls me into an embrace.


	8. VIII

The world around me seems to be filled with him.

_Julian. Julian. Julian._

Him, the few moments I’ve experienced with him, and what I can’t remember, all swirl around in my mind as I leave the clearing. The sun warms my back as I walk, each step a thought, a thought of him that I can’t resist.

 

_His laugh._

_His smile._

_How could someone like that be a murderer? a_ _nd with such a sweet sister, who loves him unconditionally?_

His predicament gnaws at the insides of me. No matter how much I think about it, I can’t find it in me to even _assume_ that Julian killed the Count. It seems so out of character for him, so different, but perhaps he _was_ different, before it all.

 

Deep within me, I can feel it, the tingling awareness that _I_ knew him before. Whatever _before_ means. Thoughts of him tempt memories, but memories lure pain, and so I have to push aside what I want due to the limits of my subconscious.

 

He is irresistible, though – thinking _of_ him, _how could I not?_ It’s so simple, so captivating.

 

_Auburn curls._

_A grey eye._

_A crooked smile and a warm laugh, a rich voice full of charisma –_

_– dammit, what is wrong with me? I’m pursuing him for murder._

I let out an exhausted exhale as I duck underneath a branch. The wildlife around me seems so calm, even though I’m filled with chaotic thoughts and indecisiveness. The tightness pushing down on my chest is making it difficult to breathe.

 

I look down at my bare feet and, for some reason, think of Portia.

 

_How sweet she is –_

_– at least she understands what I feel, but what if I can’t save her brother?_

The looming thought is terrifying.

 

_It’s all on me, his life, what happens to him –_

_– if the Countess finds him before I prove his innocence, he’s dead._

_If she finds out I’ve been keeping secrets, what then? Will she kill me too?_

I’m so lost in my disordered mind that when I look around, I realize I’m _literally_ lost.

 

The Garden is nowhere near me. I’m deeper in a forest, down a route that I’m not familiar with. The leaves and verdure land underneath my bare feet have become more lush, wilder. Each way I look has me more confused, a seemingly endless expanse of a hidden world.

 

I wander and wander.

 

Darkness shrouds light. The air becomes colder.

 

_It’s not night already, is it?_

_Time couldn’t have passed that quickly._

I rush through the overgrown foliage. It almost seems to part for me, as if expecting my possessed movements. I’m not sure how, but I stumble over myself, absorbed by dread and fear, through a line of bushes out into the open air.

 

The Palace is visible. It’s spires high in the sky, the rest of it comes into view gleaming with light.

 

I take a moment to breathe, to assure myself that I’m _fine_ and not lost in a dark, deep forest.

 

_Almost was, though._

_All because of –_

_– don’t think about him!_

I almost slap myself, but I refrain. Instead, I focus on what’s in front of me.

 

The thick vegetation and undergrowth have opened up to fields with hills that roll, up and down, for infinite stretches of land. There’s a rivulet of water that cuts through the grass, except – except –

 

_– water isn’t red._

_Is it? No. It shouldn’t be._

The water in the stream is red, a dark crimson that reminds me of blood.

 

I swallow a lump in my throat. The adrenaline rush I had is worsening the anxiety that is about to overcome me now.

 

_Wh_ _at do I do? What is that?_

 

I don’t know what to do, or what I should do, and so I just stand still and stare.

 

The crimson color is seeping into the land around it, corrupting the life that was once there.

 

The flow of crimson water appears to be coming from – from –

 

_– is that the Palace?_

The stonework of a forgotten part _of_ the Palace, somewhere that has clearly been ignored and neglected for years. Moss. Mold. The stone is tainted, cracked and broken in areas. From it, the stream floods out, the water like –

 

_– poison._

The sensation of being the only one _aware_ of this, it clouds me with a feeling of isolation. I look around to make sure I’m not near any of the tainted land, down, up, right, left –

 

_– wait._

_What happened?_

The vivid, lush life that had permeated the Garden is dead here, at the edges near the field. It reeks of rot and decay, darkness crawls over each hint of life that attempts to breathe. It’s all so suffocating that I have to remind myself to breathe.

 

Colors are drained. Movements have stilled. Life has – withered, killed in all its essence.

 

I look back at the stream.

 

_It isn’t too far._

_I could follow it._

_But why would I want to?_

I take one step out, closer to the crimson stream. Then I take several more.

 

Eventually, I reach the edge of the corrupted water. The land beneath my bare feet is dry, cracked, _dead,_ and I almost cringe as I step on it over and over.

 

I walk and walk. The sky darkens, stars shimmer beautifully above me.

 

The vast fields soon turn into rocky cliffsides, and the stream leads me to a structure made of Lemonstone. It takes me some time to realize it’s an aqueduct, one of dozens I can see around it, all pouring water directly into Vesuvia.

 

_All of Vesuvia –_

_– I can see it all._

The wind caresses my skin, cool and tender.

 

The water in the aqueducts flows, _swishing_ and _swooshing_ through the air.

 

_I’m alone up here._

 

It’s all so serene that I lose myself for a time, stuck staring at the small lights coming from below. It’s a brilliant sight, all the people, all the buildings, all the little details I’ve never noticed before. I barely manage to keep my balance on the stone I’m on, disoriented.

 

The soft breeze dries off my sweater, leggings, and even my hair. I’m cautious not to slip and fall into the crimson water as I ascend higher and higher to follow the stream.

 

I can feel my hair blowing behind me as I move. It’s pleasant, _cathartic._

_If only Asra could see me now._

_He’d be so proud. He’d have that silly smile on his face._

I hear a raven caw. The sound tears me from my daze.

 

I look up to see that the bird is circling above me. It seems familiar, somehow.

 

_I’ve seen that raven before –_

_– but where?_

The raven swoops down and lands on my shoulder suddenly.

 

I hold in a scream, then swallow it as the bird tilts its head at me curiously.

 

“Hello.”

 

_“Hello.”_

The raven nibbles on my sweater, pulling on it in bursts.

 

_Is it trying to warn me of something? Pull me away from here?_

It does seem on alert. Its eyes are wary and its feathers are ruffled, puffed out.

 

“What – ,”

 

 _–_ the raven is startled by a loud noise. It flies off before I can speak.

 

_That was weird._

I decide to push whatever just happened aside and continue on as I was.

 

The stone steps lower and join together with another path, which both lead deeper into the city.

 

I’m led to the outskirts of Vesuvia.

 

Buildings and structures tell me I’m back in civilized life. The sounds of people echo nearby.

 

_So then this –_

_– this is some kind of crimson poison, from the Palace, flowing into the city?_

_How has no one seen this?_

I take a long, thoughtful look at the crimson stream as it rushes past me.

 

The whole universe seems to disappear, and I’m left alone.

 

“A – Apprentice?”

 

_You have got to be kidding me._

I turn and look to the side to see a shadowed figure emerging into the light of a street lantern. The dim shades and hues cascade over their form, until they come into full view.

 

Thoughts flash through my mind.

 

Blood rushes through my veins, making my heart _pound_ in my chest.

 

His face is half-covered in darkness, but I could know him from just his pale lips. His eye. His skin. His hair. His clothes. His coat. His voice.

 

_It’s –_

“ – Julian?”

 

“What – What are you doing here?”


	9. IX

He stands far from me, motionless.

 

He appears just as shocked as I am, his expression tormented.

 

His silhouette is framed by the moonlight above, in the darkness, he is a shadow. I notice he, like me, is standing at the edge of the aqueduct. We both stare for a long time – _too long_ – at each other, before he clears his throat and turns from me.

 

The city behind him is vast, enormous with its spread of stacked buildings.

 

_He seems so small, out here, all alone –_

_– and I feel small, too. We’re both so alone._

He looks down at something he’s holding in his hands. For a while, I wait patiently, then decide to take a few steps closer to him. The sensation of cold stone beneath my bare feet awakens me.

 

He flinches as I come closer, closer, _closer._ In his leather-gloved hands I see, a mask.

 

_A plague Doctor’s mask._

_The one he wore that night he broke into the Shop._

He turns it slowly, over and over, as though he’s contemplating what it is or some kind of secret meaning it holds. The beak is long and curved as I remember, the eyes vivid red and piercing in the dimness of night.

 

_What is he thinking? Why does he have that?_

_What are the chances of me running into him, all the way out here?_

He suddenly looks at me. He’s cold, distant, almost impassive as he scans his gaze over me.

 

“Apprentice. I – I didn’t expect, what _are_ you doing out here?” he stammers, then smirks in the irking way he does, “out for a night walk, barefoot?”

 

I look down at my bare feet, which are now covered in dirt. “Perhaps,” I mumble.

 

_Not really._

_I was thinking of you, then I got lost, then I found you._

_Now I don’t know what to do._

He sighs, then looks down at the reservoir of crimson water I’m staring at.

 

While he gazes at the water, I take my fill of him. His coat is reflecting the crimson surface.

 

_Red on red._

_Familiar? Vaguely._

The refractions of colors against the red of his coat keep my attention. The splashes of crimson from the water melt together on him, cascading him in a darker red than he wears. The added shadow of darkness makes him look miserable.

 

His brows are furrowed. He’s deep in thought, lost in himself.

 

His auburn curls are ruffled by the wind, but he doesn’t seem to care when it covers the black eyepatch over his right eye. He seems to become _sadder,_ as he bows his head low and lets his thick hair fall with him, hide him.

 

_Ashamed?_

_Of what?_

He breathes out a foggy, held in breath. “I was just thinking, what a funny, fickle thing life can be,” he says, to himself, to me, “don’t you think? our lives can be so entertaining, but also so – so very inconsistent.”

 

“I think that’s what makes life interesting,” I tell him.

 

He starts when I speak. It seems either my words or my voice have an effect on him.

 

His cheeks are tinted a warm, flushed pink when he looks down at my bare feet.

 

I’d swear concern washes over his expression, but it could just be my mind. _tricks._

“Should you be standing so close to the water? You could fall in,” I say after a moment.

 

“What?” he laughs, then stares at the reservoir, “this water? It’s harmless. well, harmless as it can be. It won’t do much to me.”

 

“It looks poisoned.”

 

“It’s not. Not really. It won’t hurt anyone, anymore at least. Save for those few who dare to swim in it, but – isn’t it incredible? they went and figured it out. or outlasted it. I wonder how they did it? how _did_ they do it?”

 

I don’t have an answer for him. I have no idea how this _isn’t_ harmful anymore, or how people have _outlasted_ whatever it does. It hurts to even think about or consider. That familiar, pulsing headache.

 

“It’s no matter, I suppose,” he murmurs under his breath, “life always finds a way, doesn’t it? The plague is over. Has been for years.”

 

“Yes, it has,” I mumble, unsure what else to say to soothe him.

 

“Ah. and so is my career, just like that. Who needs a plague Doctor if there’s no plague?”

 

“Well – ,”

 

“ – it’s like a Count with no city to rule over! or a barkeep with no tavern to run! what do I have left for me? nothing. absolutely nothing. I’ve lost what purpose I had. what reason I had.”

 

“I don’t know about all that. The world still needs Doctors.”

 

He snorts, then laughs at me mockingly. I realize after some time, he’s actually laughing at himself.

 

Cruelly.

It pains me to see him like this. He looks torn inside, stuck between two opposites.

 

He extends his arms out in a flourish, abruptly, and more of his auburn hair falls in front of his gray eye. I can feel how he’s split inside, how within him, his heart is crumbling to pieces.

 

The essence of my magic whispers for me to ease his suffering.

 

_But how?_

“So – Here I am. Throwing away the last piece of a past I can’t ever reclaim. Pity, isn’t it?”

 

“You don’t have to throw your past away.”

 

“Oh, but darling, I do,” he tells me, then stares down at the mask in his hand.

 

I remain silent. “Well, if – ,”

 

 _–_ I cut myself off as he drops the mask into the crimson water below.

 

It splashes.

Colors ripple. Droplets stain his coat. Pale, slithering forms swarm the mask.

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – what?”

 

The moment I attempt to speak what’s on my mind, a raven screech cries above me.

 

_It’s back?_

It soars between us, flapping its black wings frantically. It wildly caws and flies around.

 

“Guards,” he mutters. His eye focuses on me.

 

“Guards?” I say in wonder.

 

_Oh shit. Guards._

“Don’t just stand there like a fool,” he shouts at me, “come on, Apprentice. We’d best run for it.”

 

“It wouldn’t be time well-spent with you if we didn’t run from Guards,” I mutter.

 

He laughs at me. The sound is rich and warm and fills my heart with a blossoming sensation.

 

He rushes forward and takes me by my wrist, then pulls me with him to leap down the aqueduct, further down the dimly lit street. He runs so fast, so smoothly, I almost have a difficult time keeping up with him.

 

The adrenaline rushing through me is thrilling. I can hear my pulse with each step.

 

The sound of my bare feet hitting the stone reverberates through the vacant alleys. It makes me anxious, for some reason, the noise sets fear into my mind. The thought of Julian –

 

_A noose around his neck._

_A public execution._

_The echo of cheers in the crowd._

_The muffled sound of crying, me – me – it’s me, crying –_

I’m so absorbed in the living nightmare that I slip on a wet stone, forcing me off balance.

 

The suddenness of it makes me slide out of his hold. His hand releases my wrist, desperate.

 

I stumble backwards, then fall into the crimson water in the reservoir.

 

I splash into the liquid, much like his mask did when he dropped it. Colors of red surround me. Darkness, too.

 

The water is cold. Deep. Endless, it seems like. Far more bottomless than I thought it was.

 

I lose my breath all at once. Shock. Surprise. It all weakens me, I’m helpless.

 

I kick and I swim. At least, I attempt to. I can’t seem to find the surface.

 

_I’m going to drown –_

_– fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Julian. What about him?_

I thrash with determination, then I still, when something slippery and smooth touches me.

 

_What was that?_

The touch returns, once, twice, three times, a _tease,_ and then it latches onto me.

 

Bubbles come out of my mouth as I breathe out the last of my air.

 

I writhe underneath the water. Wriggling. Twisting. Nothing makes a difference.

 

It won’t come off me, whatever it is.

 

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe –_

_– I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe._

The creature is draining the life from me, the blood from my veins.

 

I’m losing blood and air, rapidly. It all becomes too much.

 

I lose the ability to struggle, to move, to _attempt_ to breathe. The creature still drinks from me.

 

“Apprentice!”

 

_Julian?_

Faded light appears in spots as I close my eyes slowly.

 

For a time, all is still and quiet.

 

I lose more and more blood, with no air to inhale or exhale.

 

Someone dives into the water, and moments later, I’m pulled out by strong arms.

 

_Julian?_

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just – Just breathe. Here, let me – oh dear God _seriously?_ a Vampire Eel? Uh – Uh – Just hold still, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. on three. one. two. three – ,”


	10. X

I take deep breaths. Over. Over. Over – and _over._

 

He soothes me with calm, smooth words. His voice is an anodyne all in itself.

 

He holds the slimy, slick Vampire Eel behind its head before pulling it off me. The pain that rushes through me almost makes me blackout. I hear a _splash_ as he throws the Eel back into the reservoir, then focuses his attention on the bleeding wound on my side.

 

“It’s uh – nothing lethal,” he assures me; his Doctor _façade_ shattering slightly.

 

“It – It _hurts,”_ I mutter between my teeth.

 

His expression darkens.

 

He looks up, towards the noise of Guards down the alley. He suddenly pales, clearly torn between two decisions. I press my palms over the wound, let out a hiss, then stare up at him.

 

“Leave. Leave me. They’ll – They’ll catch you.”

 

“I – I can’t _leave_ you. are you mad? You must be. You’re coming with me.”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – no, I’m not leaving you to bleed out and – _no._ Here. I’ll just – ,”

 

– he huffs out an exhale as he scoops me in his arms, then lifts me in the air.

 

_This feels familiar._

_Too familiar._

_When has he done this before?_

The blinding pain coursing through my veins makes it impossible to think. He lifts me higher, then closer to his chest before turning and running off. The trembling movements of my body leave me feeling sick.

_Splatters_ of blood – my blood, drip into the wet puddles we leave behind.

 

I stare at the crimson color as my head drapes over his arm, limp. It reminds me of the poison.

 

“You know, as much as I love carrying you – it isn’t the most efficient way to run from Guards.”

 

“Want me to stand?”

 

He halts in his steps, then rushes to hide in the shadow of a tall building close by. He peers down at me with a curious, worried glint in his gray eye. I shudder in his arms. His brows furrow deeper, making his forehead wrinkle.

 

“No. No. I just – keep applying pressure to that, alright? Don’t die on me.”

 

“I’ll – I’ll do my best.”

 

He slinks out from behind the building, then peeks around the corners to make sure Guards aren’t able to see us. I look as well, but I can’t see – my vision has blackened, spots of light pulse in time with my erratic heartbeat.

 

He remains still for a while. Time seems so slow.

 

“Julian, I – ,”

 

“ – hush, hush. No final words. You’ll be fine. You’ll live. I’ll take care of you.”

 

He sounds dreadfully anxious. His voice cracked about three times and on his dark lashes –

 

– _is that water? Is he crying?_

 

It hurts to see.

 

_He has enough sadness in his life._

He slips out from behind the building abruptly. He runs so fast, I’m a bit startled.

 

He holds me tighter.

Warm blood spills out between my fingers; it also stains my soaked sweater, and him.

 

Crimson _drip, drip, drips._ I hear each droplet, more of my life draining out of me.

 

“Julian, I – ,”

 

“ – no I will _not_ let you speak, you will say something horribly sad and – ,”

 

“ – I think you’re innocent,” I cough, “you’re too kind to have committed murder. I know it.”

 

He pales even more. “You don’t know me at all,” he mutters, his tone melancholy.

 

I start to shake violently. He holds me tighter, as if he can make me stop.

 

He carries me down and through alleyways, until we reach a narrow, vacant one that’s saturated in darkness. He _almost_ collapses, but before he falls to his knees, he secures one of his leather gloved hands behind my skull.

 

He tenderly lays me down on the stone. It’s cold; hard and wet.

 

“Let me see that bite,” he tells me, then pushes my hands out of the way.

 

I let out a choked noise of pain. “Jul – _mm,”_ I swallow a small scream.

 

Hair is stuck to my face, wet and sticky. The sweater and leggings I have on are latched onto my skin, drenched with crimson water and crimson blood. He removes his black-leather gloves, then slowly slides my torn sweater up to reveal the wound.

 

He becomes even paler. His one eye widens in fear. In his thin neck, a vein pulses.

 

“Let me take care of you,” he says when I attempt to shove him off.

 

“Jul – _Julian,”_ I moan. I let my head loll to the side.

 

“You’ll be okay. I promise. I’m here. Breathe.”

 

“ _Julian,_ I – I’m _sorry.”_

_I never proved your innocence. if I die here –_

– _who will save you?_

I blink a few times, then realize the spots I see are stars.

 

The sky is so clear. The night so calm. It would be wonderful if I wasn’t bleeding out.

 

His hands slide over my skin, and I feel each movement of his. The pulse in his wrist throbs against my abdomen for a moment, and it makes my heart leap into my throat.

 

_He’s nervous._

 

_He’s scared._

 

I take more deep breaths, suffocate a little, then wince when pain _thumps_ where his hands are.

 

“The – The bleeding won’t stop. Damn.”

 

“I – I thought you were a _Doctor?_ Can’t you – can’t you – ,”

 

– I gasp for air as he pulls back. He still looks haunted by fear.

 

He looks down at his hands for a long moment, and it is at this moment, when I see his Brand. The _Murderer Brand –_ a heart with an arrow coming out of it, carved in ink into his skin so it will never disappear. His hand is cold as he lays it over the wound, so cold that it makes me shiver.

 

“Hold still, darling. I’ve got you.”

 

“What – What are you – ?”

 

– I hold still as I look up at him. He brushes wet hair from my forehead softly, then smiles.

 

“Deep breaths,” he whispers, “this will only take a minute or two.”

 

“W – What will?” I ask.

 

His marked hand slides under my skull.

 

I’m so lost in his words I don’t realize what is _actually_ happening. I sense a loss, a loss of pain.

 

It eases in waves, crashes harder, then recedes so I’m filled with relief. It becomes easier to breathe. The comforting pressure of his hand behind my skull lulls me into turning limp. I let the pain fade and fade and fade, until it has all washed from me.

 

His hands on me feel familiar.

 

_Why do I feel this way?_

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” I murmur.

 

He presses one of his cold hands to my forehead. “Well, I’ve assisted you in your time of need before,” he smirks, then arches an auburn brow, “but I doubt you remember that.”

 

“Remember what?”

 

“Exactly. Come on now, sit up. You should be better.”

 

He uses one of his arms to lift me, under my back. He keeps it there as I sit up.

 

“Wait,” I say, “remember what? What don’t I remember?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he mutters.

 

“It matters to me.”

 

“If you don’t remember it, then – ,”

 

“ – what is _it?_ The last interaction I remember we had was you breaking into the Shop.”

 

“At least you didn’t catch me doing that this time, hm?”

 

His humor doesn’t make me laugh. I stare at him intensely.

 

_Well, there was whatever happened at the Palace –_

– _what Portia said she saw. What I smelt in the morning. The note Julian left._

“What about – ,”

 

“ – why were you – ,”

 

– we both cut each other off. I flush with warmth. He blushes, then looks at the aqueduct.

 

Silence covers us. It lingers for a while, tense but not uncomfortable.

 

In the darkness of night, I see a bright light; under the wan skin of his throat.

 

_A symbol?_

_Magic?_

_What is that design?_

_Wait, isn’t this Asra’s aura I sense?_

“Julian,” I whisper.

 

He snaps his gaze to me, then looks down at his side. “Hm?” he hums, “ah, here it comes.”

 

I stare at his side. His black overshirt turns darker steadily, more and more, then he touches the spreading stain. He pulls his hand back, and from his fingers, crimson blood drips.

 

He has a wound in the same area I did. He flinches in pain as he holds it.

 

_He took the bite from me._

_He took my pain._

“Julian, what – ,”

 

“ – do you recognize it? A kind _gift_ from your Master, many years ago.”


	11. XI

It takes me some time to understand.

 

It hurts. The faint essence of Asr – _Master’s_ allure. His magic. His memories are all over.

 

_Scattered._

 

_Lost._

 

_Wild thoughts._

_A curse. Why would Master curse Julian?_

The question lingers with me for a while, but I never voice it. It seems like too much.

 

Dark crimson blood soaks his overshirt. It drowns him, drains from me.

 

The wound I had is mended, even the pain has disappeared.

 

I’m so in shock all I do is stare.

 

“J – Julian – ,”

 

“ – don’t be scared, Apprentice. It will heal itself.”

 

_I’m not scared._

_Am I?_

Tears burn hot at the corners of my eyes. The kind of pain that makes me sick takes over.

 

“I hate you so much,” I cry quietly. Emotions flood me, hot and engulfing.

 

He stares at me in confusion. “W – What?” he stammers, then blushes.

 

“I said I hate you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“ _Why?”_ I laugh cynically, then crawl towards him to close the distance between us. He leans back, but I keep close to him. I rest one of my hands over his, over his wound. “Look what you did,” I accuse, “ _I_ should be suffering this pain.”

 

“You’d be dead by now,” he tells me dismally, “I couldn’t have let that happen. and I just told you, it will heal – ,”

 

“ – why do you have to be so recklessly selfish all the time? Don’t you ever care to think about others? about – about me? about what I feel when you act with so little concern for your own life?”

 

“A – Apprentice, I didn’t think – ,”

 

“ – you _never_ think,” I shout, then sniffle, “you just – you just do whatever you please, and then leave the rest of us to worry to death!”

 

He gapes at me. His lips tremble. “I – I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “really, I – I didn’t know you cared about – ,”

 

“ – of course I care. _someone_ has to, since you don’t.”

 

“You could just not care.”

 

“Well, I do,” I exhale. I wipe my wet cheeks with the sleeves of my still-damp sweater.

 

“About me?” he teases, then smirks playfully, “tell me dear, how _much_ do you care, hm? I’d love to hear about how much you absolutely adore me.”

 

“You’re terrible.”

 

“What? I’m serious! I want to know. I love listening to your sweet voice.”

 

I blush.

 

The air becomes a little less cold, warmth blossoms from within me.

 

He smiles wickedly.

 

“You’re truly awful,” I pout. I rub my eyes until they’re sore and dry.

 

His smile turns sincere. “Am I?” he purrs.

 

He lifts one of his hands, as if to wipe my tears, or brush my hair, but then stares at the blood coated over his pale moonlit skin and retracts into himself. His smile fades as hurt washes over his expression. He looks down at his side, lifts his shirt, then rubs his palm over his mended skin.

 

The vivid-white magic symbol on his neck dissipates. With it, Master’s aura vanishes.

 

“See, darling? I’m all better. No need to cry.”

 

“I still hate you. You scared me.”

 

_Making me worry like that._

_When was the last time I felt so much?_

He wipes his blood-soaked hands on his blood-stained wet overshirt.

 

“Asra’s skill has always been refined, even back then,” he mutters, “no matter if it was a curse or a ritual of some sort, he took on each magical exertion with care. The pains I take from others will always heal, do not be scared for me.”

 

I blink a few times. “Why did he curse you?” I ask.

 

“I don’t know, really. It was his parting gift to me. How hilarious of him to make it a curse.”

 

“What – What kind of curse is it? What exactly does it do?”

 

“I can take away bodily wounds, pains, or injuries, and in return, I experience them for myself. Such as a Vampire Eel bite, or perhaps a twisted ankle.”

 

“A – A twisted – ?”

 

– he laughs with himself. I frown as I attempt to comprehend what is so comical.

 

_A twisted ankle?_

The dull sense of a familiar pain in my ankle throbs for a moment. It ebbs instantly.

 

“What is so funny?” I snap. The sound of my voice echoes across the vacant alley.

 

“Ah. Nothing,” he sighs, then attempts to stand up. He collapses back down onto the stone.

 

“Still hurts?”

 

“It won’t last. It never does. Fitting, since the curse came from a witch who fears commitment.”

 

I muse on his words for some time.

 

_Alone. He always leaves me alone, and what if, one of these times, he never comes back?_

I swallow down words I think of. Dread sinks within me. Suffocation surrounds me.

 

He looks at me with anxious curiosity.

 

His damp auburn curls fall in front of his gray eye and other, obscured one, but then he shakes out his hair so his tresses only hide the eyepatch. He exhales to shatter the tension. His gaze focuses on his blood-stained side.

 

“Never been bitten by a Vampire Eel. It feels – interesting.”

 

“Interesting how?”

 

He remains silent as he takes off his overshirt and jacket. He allows me to assist him.

 

“Well, fate seems to _love_ to test the limits of this body. I wonder how much it can take?”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – fine. fine. I’m sorry,” he says, “I know, you don’t like to hear about me in pain.”

 

“I can’t believe you _like –_ ,” I inhale a sharp breath, “wait, do you – do you _like_ pain?”

 

He flushes as I look intensely at him.

 

His pale skin darkens to a soft pink. His neck, his cheeks, his ears, all turn a rosy color.

 

“Pain can certainly be an _interesting_ sensation,” he admits.

 

“ _Interesting_ ,” I slur, “I’m starting to feel like that means something I’m not understanding.”

 

He laughs at me. His voice is rich, full of contentment and bliss, the sound makes me smile.

 

“Ah. Apprentice, if only you knew.”

 

“Knew what?”

 

I’m left breathless as a sudden, thunderous noise rattles close by.

 

_Boots?_

_Guards?_

_Fuck. Will we never get a break?_

He curses under his breath, seizes his attire and puts it on, then pulls me with him as he stands up.

 

Behind us, water and blood mix with each other.

 

With his leather-gloved fingers tight around my wrist, I stumble after him – we sneak out of one dark, wet alley into another. Except this one is narrow, so narrow that he has to press me against a wall then press _himself_ against me to hide completely.

 

He crowds me, covers me, _protects_ me and touches me in just about every area he can.

 

We’re so close that I can feel his warm breath, it tickles.

 

I’m so distracted by him, I barely hear the Guards run past us.

 

The moment we’re alone, I impulsively reach out and touch where his wound was – _is?_ and then I slide my hand underneath his white undershirt so I can feel his smooth skin. I feel possessed. Touching him, this close, floods me with desire and want.

 

I lightly press into his side. He bites his lip and _moans,_ his expression both that of pain and pleasure.

 

I falter.

 

I burn with heat.

 

I don’t move, breathe, blink, all I do is look up at him.

 

He, after some hesitation, looks down at me. His pupil is dilated wide, the black glimmers with light.

 

For a moment, we both just stare.

 

“Apprentice – ,”

 

“Doctor – ,”

 

– he takes one hand off the wall and covers my mouth with it as a _thud_ echoes from somewhere.

 

He glances toward the entrance of the alleyway, tearing his stare from mine.

 

“Not the time. We need to leave.”

 

“O – Okay.”

 

I’m so out of it that I move effortlessly when he takes me by my hand.

 

He squeezes and I squeeze back, a silent reassurance that I’m fine.

 

_But am I?_

_What just happened between us?_

Thoughts swirl around in my mind as we run through the city together.

 

Colors pass in blurs. Hues. Shades.

 

I’m so overcome I can’t see at all, anything - except him.

 

I let him lead me, further and further into the depths of Vesuvia, until –

 

– _what is that?_

The attraction of magic tingles the nape of my neck.

 

I look to where I sense it – between two tall, abandoned buildings, is a concealed Garden.

 

_It would be perfect to hide in._

Before I lose my nerve, I pull him in the opposite direction, towards the Garden.

 

He realizes what I want without a word. He and I make it to an iron gate that’s blocking the path into the Garden. In seconds I’m lifted into the air, the world whirls and I gasp, then tumble awkwardly onto the other side of the entrance.

 

I let out a breath of relief when he elegantly lands beside me moments later.


	12. XII

“Careful.”

 

“Careful? Careful of wha – ,”

 

– I’m so out of breath, words won’t vocalize.

 

He takes me by my arm suddenly and the world, once more, swirls in colors and lights as he pulls me close to him. His other hand covers my mouth, the leather of his glove cold and still-wet.

 

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispers in my ear.

 

His warm breath touches me and makes me shudder, distinct from the cool night air. “J – Julian,” I softly moan, weak voice muffled by his glove.

 

“God, _please_ don’t moan my name like that right now.”

 

“D – _Doctor – ,”_

“ – that doesn’t make it better! Hush.”

 

“But – ,”

 

– I’m so close to him that I can _feel_ his lithe, slender body move against mine.

 

His black, still-damp coat has fallen around me, enveloping me with him. His hand around my arm clutches tighter, and, at the same second, the hand he has over my lips presses firmer down.

 

The scent of smoke, leather, and coffee drown me, with hints of blood and alcohol.

 

_It must be him. It has to be. This aroma is all his._

_And God, do I want to suffocate in it._

The awareness of what I am secretly thinking makes me burn hot, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I squirm and writhe in his hold, but he holds me securer in return. I bite the leather that my teeth latch onto, and I swear, in that moment, he _hisses_ a noise of pleasure.

 

“By God, Apprentice, if you don’t _stop – ,”_

“ – ‘et ‘e ‘o!”

 

“Hush. _Hush.”_

“I ‘on’t ‘anna ‘ _ush.”_

He tenses, then I do too, as a sudden thunderous noise echoes outside the Garden. Boots. _Guards._ dozens of them, it sounds like, all rush through the narrow alleyway we were just in. Their hurried bootsteps fade in time, until all there is, is the hum of nature around us.

 

He exhales a breath of relief, then releases me all at once. The loss of his intimate presence is so unanticipated that I stumble out of his arms and fall over myself onto the soft land beneath me.

 

Grass. Weeds. Vines. All the vegetation here is lush, old, and wild. Terrified flowers and insects scatter the abandoned expanse, and animals conceal themselves as I look around. life is abundant, protected, shrouded in solitude.

 

“It’s – It’s beautiful here,” I murmur in awe. I reach out to touch a mysterious energetic herb but it shies from me.

 

“Not as beautiful as you, darling,” he whispers.

 

_Is he teasing, or is he serious?_

I look up at him as he stands in front of me with one hand outstretched, a temptation. His silhouette is shadowed by moonlight and a faint, but brilliant blue hue from above in the trees. His coat flutters around his form, exposing the thin layers of clothes underneath.

 

_Why is my heart pounding so fast?_

I stare at his stained boots so I don’t have to see his self-satisfied smirk. that look _does_ certain things to me, certain _emotions,_ which I prefer to be hidden from him. He has an exceptional skill to make me flustered and hot and nervous when I shouldn’t be.

 

After I swallow down whatever aches are burnt inside me, I reach up and take his gloved hand.

 

He bends down, full of charm and suave, then kisses the back of my hand.

 

His cold lips linger on my skin just a _little_ too long, sensual and carnal.

 

“ _Julian,”_ I breathe as he licks the sensitive skin of my hand.

 

“You taste so sweet,” he comments, “and a bit like blood. even sweeter.”

 

“Is now really the time for this?”

 

“Well, the Guards have left us alone. I don’t see a problem, do you?”

 

_No I do not._

_Fuck._

I bite my lower lip hard to keep from admitting the truth.

 

He huffs out an amused breath at me. “Lovely spot you’ve found here,” he purrs, then lightly kisses his way up my arm until he reaches the sleeve of my damp sweater. “We’re completely,” his voice is low, dark, full of want, “entirely, totally, absolutely, utterly _alone._ Is this what you wanted?”

 

“I wanted us not to be caught and executed,” I choke out.

 

“Mhm. So you claim.”

 

“I had _no_ intention of – ,”

 

“ – of what? having me all to yourself?” he teases, “or perhaps, leaving yourself to all of me?”

 

I flush under his passionate stare. “You’ve lost your mind,” I accuse.

 

“Perhaps I have. I blame a certain woman.”

 

“Do you mean _me,_ Doctor?”

 

“Do I?” he sighs against my skin, then lifts himself so his posture is straight. He closes the distance between us, his hand still intertwined with mine, then brushes off my sweater. “I’ll leave the truth of it up to you, Apprentice,” he tells me.

 

“If it is me, I can’t imagine what I’ve done,” I scoff, “how have _I_ made you lose your mind?”

 

“Losing one’s mind is not always a dreadful thing. It can be beautiful, thrilling, even _rousing_.”

 

“Are you saying that you’re pleased to have lost your mind?”

 

“I’m pleased that it has happened, that I have met someone who has done this to me.”

 

“You – You – ,”

 

– I breathe heavier, at a loss for words.

 

His stare is so absorbed that I feel like his gray eye is cutting through me.

 

Stressed silence shrouds us both.

 

He seems lost, almost confused, as though he knows what he wants, but not how to reach out and take it, and I’m entranced with him. He steps closer, and closer, and _closer,_ until our bodies are pressed together and then, somehow, my back is against a massive tree.

 

Out of impulse, it seems like, he reaches up and brushes strands of hair behind my ear.

 

“You had me scared, back there,” he says, then looks down at his side. The blood is still there, and there is still a slight pain in his expression. “I – I don’t remember the last time I felt so – so much, for someone else,” he admits, “it’s been a while.”

 

“Has it?” I mutter.

 

“It has. It’s been far, far too long, actually, since I’ve wanted to be this selfish.”

 

“Selfish?”

 

“Selfish. Selfish in what I want, what I crave, I don’t deserve much, let alone y – ,”

 

“ – let alone – ?”

 

– _please, please say it. Just say it._

He seals his lips shut, then shakes his head of auburn curls. He retracts from me as if burnt.

 

To distract himself from his almost-confession, I assume, he looks around the abandoned Garden with mild interest. I decide to let go of the emotions I have and come to terms that, in the end, it’s better if we don’t both fall into something we can’t pull ourselves out of.

 

There are statues all over the Garden that I didn’t notice before, marble ones that are cascaded in shimmers of moonlight. The statues are – _beasts? –_ a reminisce of the past creeps towards me, but it is so dim that it’s useless to attempt to remember what the memory is.

 

He turns from me with a flourish, then walks towards a decrepit fountain in the distance, cautious as he steps over old roots in the dirt, the cracked stone floor.

 

After a minute of hollow thoughts, I shadow behind him.

 

“This Garden _is_ quite beautiful,” he says, “lovely thinking to come here, Apprentice.”

 

“You can thank my magic,” I tell him, lifting my voice to ebb off the tense mood.

 

“Your magic can find places like this?”

 

“If the need arises.”

 

“Incredible,” he murmurs, then turns to look at me, “it seems you have a talent for discovering hidden beauty, hm?”

 

“If you’d like to think of it that way,” I offer nervously.

 

He smiles softly, then brushes his auburn curls so they conceal his black eyepatch. His one dilated eye glimmers under a sliver of moonlight spilling down on him, full of fascination and wonder.

 

“I wonder how many areas of the city have fallen to neglect like this.”

 

“Do you have such concern for the city?”

 

“I suppose not,” he mutters, “I just – I suppose I remember it a bit differently, I think.”

 

“You think?” I ask.

 

“I can barely remember much, let alone what my life was like three years ago. It has all become so – so oddly blurry, I’m left with memories that don’t seem like mine.”

 

“I understand the feeling.”

 

We both glare at each other for a time, then break the trance.

 

He ambles over to one of the statues, a ludicrous sculpture of a bull. He throws one of his arms around its muscularly carved shoulders, then looks at me with mischief in his features.

 

“Ah. Look at this brute! Tell me, Apprentice, who is more handsome to you?”

 

“Are you comparing yourself to a dilapidated statue?”

 

“Yes! and so, hm? Who is it? Who is more handsome?”

 

“I’ll leave the truth of it up to you, _Doctor.”_

He laughs at me, clearly amused by my retort of his earlier remark, then leans on the statue.

 

“Dangerous looking creature, isn’t he?” he muses aloud.

 

I let out a soft exhale as I approach him and the statue. “I like a little danger,” I confess.

 

He starts a bit at that, then narrows his gaze on me rather than the statue. He leans his back against the marble sculpture, then crosses his arms over his chest. The wind carries his coat in the air and rustles his curls, somehow the sight makes me breathless.

 

“Oh? I shouldn’t be surprised. It seems you’re just _full_ of hidden depths.”

 

“I suppose.”

 

He bites his lip for a moment, then releases it. “Tell me, though,” he rasps, “do you really mean that? You’re undoubtedly a risk-taker, that I know well, but do you know what you are getting yourself into, Apprentice? Because I don’t think you do.”

 

His question strikes a sensation deep within me. “Isn’t the not-knowing what makes it all so exciting? The ecstasy of surprise, of what could happen, isn’t that what risks are all about?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t claim that’s all risks are about. There can be more exciting offers in the world.”

 

“Such as?”

 

The compulsive longing to be closer to him licks at me, warm and wet, and so I find myself stalking towards him like a predator to its prey.

 

His breaths start to come out as quick as mine. The sound of my boots crunching leaves underneath me is the only other noise. He’s so close, I reach out, _needing_ to feel him –

 

“ – ah, hold still a moment,” he tells me.

 

I falter in fear. He stretches out then plucks a flower off of my shoulder.

 

It’s one of the blue ones emitting a luminous light above, in the trees.

 

Vivid azure brightens the darkness as he twirls it around, a playful smirk on his expression. The petals float in the air, star-like as they curl from his movements.

 

He offers the flower to me, a quirk to his lips, a dare in the depths of his dilated black pupil.

 

He twirls the flower, again and again, letting the unusual scent of it rise in the air.

 

After a while, an undeterminable amount of endless time, I reach out for the illuminated flower. He shakes his auburn head as he pulls it from me, and I flinch.

 

“Ah. Ah. Ah. Careful, dear. There’s poison in the petals.”

 

“Poison?”

 

I stare down at the flower. The petals have sparkles on them, an allure that I have to resist. The unfamiliar scent I smell must be the poison, acidic and delicate.

 

“Yes. Poison,” he murmurs, “it’s a Deadly Starstrand.”

 

“I’ve – I’ve never heard of it,” I admit with embarrassment.

 

_H_ _ow has Asra not showed this to me?_

“Oh? Well, a _single_ drop of poison distilled from this flower could take a life. It has slain Tyrants and Kings, those that were innocent and those that were guilty. It could ruin an entire Empire with a careless hand holding it.”

 

“Could it? How – curious, and frightening.”

 

I’m left stunned as he offers the flower to me once more.

 

His gaze is eager, ravenous, starved for whatever I do.

 

“Do you still want it?”

 

“Do I?”

 

I tease him with an unworried smile, then I take the flower from him. He inhales in shock as I lift it to my nose to inhale the scent of it. The petals weep with poison, then curl inwards.

 

Acrid and bitter, as I smelt earlier, except it is far more potent this close. Death and sickness emanate from it as well.

 

“You said the poison has to be distilled,” I consider, “doesn’t that make it harmless to touch?”

 

“Correct you are, but I wouldn’t eat it if I were you, darling,” he advises, “it probably won’t kill you in its current state.”

 

“ _Probably?”_

“The possibility is still there, of course. It always is.”

 

“What if I did die, then?” I murmur, then stick my tongue out towards one of the petals.

 

“A – Apprentice,” he stammers, then his eye widens, “don’t.”

 

“What would you do, Doctor? If I licked this petal?”

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

He leans forward, then takes my hand in his. He lifts our connected hands, lifting the flower.

 

He sticks out his tongue, leaves it close to mine, but also close to the petals. He arches a brow.

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“ – a world without you isn’t a world I’d bother to live in.”

 

His words soak into me, trickle like the droplets of poison we are both so close to tasting.

 

_He doesn’t really mean that._

_Does he?_

I blush as I release the flower. It floats between us, down towards the lush earth. He catches it before it falls too far, a satiated look of content on his face.

 

“For you,” he murmurs, then tucks the flower behind one of my ears, “a beautifully lethal flower for a beautifully lethal woman.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I mumble, then flush hotter as his touch remains on me.

 

He caresses my cheek, then rests his gloved hand on my shoulder.

 

He stares up at the millions of other Deadly Starstrands, all vibrant and blue up in the trees.

 

“How wonderful they all are,” he says to himself.

 

“It seems like you’re not afraid of a little danger, either,” I tease.

 

“Afraid of danger? Why, darling, I _live_ for it. Unconditionally enchanted by it, I am.”

 

“What about pain, then? Does that scare you?”

 

I remember what happened earlier. What _has_ happened, several times now. The moments, however sudden, when he has moaned or sighed or made _some_ kind of abnormal noise when suffering any amount of pain.

 

He swallows a lump in his throat. His dark lashes flutter as he blinks down at me.

 

“Why should it?” he murmurs darkly, “in my profession, I can’t afford to be afraid of a little pain. One might say I have a – an _intimate_ knowledge of it, in fact.”

 

“Intimate?” I whisper, then step closer to him.

 

Some sort of reckless emotion possesses me. He has intoxicated me with his words, his closeness, all of him and now I’m lost in all that he is.

 

I reach out and rest a hand on his waist, the side of him where the wound is still mending, then press against his flesh through his attire. He steps back as I close in on him, all the while I push more and more pressure on the sensitive area underneath his overshirt.

 

He flushes pink under the light of the moon. He then smiles at me like he _isn’t_ obviously aroused.

 

“Oh-Ho. Are we dancing? I didn’t know you could, or liked to. What – uh – what’s your poison, hm? Tango? Waltz? Uh – Something exotic?”

 

“ _Julian.”_

A moan from my lips, his name, the sound makes him flush an even deeper color.

 

Another step, and this time, I press as hard as I can against his side, the wound.

 

He bites his lip and makes a muffled, choked noise, then gasps for breath. He loses all control, hits a derelict wall behind him with a loud moan. His voice echoes throughout the Garden. He stares down at me with a desperate, shameful, wicked look.

 

“Not the – the waltz, then? Pity. I’ve been told I’ve perfected it – ,”

 

“ – Julian, _hush.”_

He inhales a deep breath.

 

His gloved fingers push down harder on my shoulder as he slides down the wall a bit, barely able to hold himself up as I continue to press against the vulnerable wound. He writhes and squirms.

 

Then he _moans._ That sound, that beautiful sound that I vaguely do/don’t remember.

 

“A – Apprentice, please – ,”

 

“ – please what, Doctor? What is it you want?”

 

Our breaths mingle as he leans closer to me, and I to him.

 

He parts his lips to speak, a noise comes out, but it’s not coherent. I wait and wait and wait –

 

– and then, deafening bootsteps sound throughout the quiet Garden.

 

All the life scatters to disappear into the darkness.

 

He blinks himself out of whatever daze he was in, then scowls at the loud resonance.

 

“It’s always something, hm? Let’s uh – let’s leave before they find us like this.”

 

“Wait, J – Julian – ,”

 

– before I can say whatever it is I am thinking, he takes me by my hand and pulls me with him.

 

He leads me out of the Garden, back into the depths of Vesuvia, into the wet and dark alleys where we run as fast as we can, me behind him as I hold on to his gloved hand. He’s agile and swift as he evades all traces of the Guards, and I barely keep up.

 

_He knows all the escape routes so damn well._

_How long has he been running?_

It makes me a bit sad to think about.

 

There isn’t much more time to think, as he suddenly falters behind a residence and I slam into his back. The entire building is rundown and falling apart, but he has a look of relief on his face as he stares at a wooden, makeshift window.

 

“After you, darling.”

 

“Are we really – ,”

 

– he pushes open the window with one arm, then, in an instant, uses his other to lift me.

 

The world, like before, whirls and spins and twirls, and then I slam onto a hard oak floor.

 

He falls on top of me seconds later, as the window shuts and the Guards run past outside.


	13. XIII

I inhale, but all the air is forced out of me.

 

“ _Julian – ,”_

“ – are you alr – oh, I’m crushing you. Hold on.”

 

He rolls off of me, then lays flat on his back. His auburn curls are disheveled, still wet with crimson water that drips onto his pale skin. He breathes deeply a few times, then rests his arm over his slick forehead.

 

“That was fun.”

 

“Was that your idea of _fun,_ Doctor?”

 

“Near-Death experiences are always thrilling. I thought you _liked_ the risk, Apprentice. Hm?”

 

“I – I do, but that was close, _too_ close, what if – ,”

 

“ – we’re fine, _you’re_ fine,” he whispers, then rests on his side as he looks longingly at me, “that’s all that matters, and now we have some lovely memories to recall for the rest of our days.”

 

“I suppose,” I mutter, then look around the cramped residence, “where are we now, though?”

 

Brass bells hum quietly in the silent night as a draft blows in from the open window.

 

He inhales sharply, then stands up in one smooth motion. His black coat flutters around him.

 

His back is bent a bit, but even so, his shoulders still brush the dust-covered ceiling.

 

“Mazelinka? Mazelinka? Sorry to drop in like this, the Guards were – Mazelinka! Hm. I don’t think she’s home. Oh well. I’m sure she won’t mind us hiding here for a bit.”

 

“Maze – Mazelinka? Who’s that?”

 

“Call her a dear friend of mine. Sharp as a – hook. Wonderful at cards. Hah. She’s definitely not home, she would have come out and smacked me for that.”

 

“Are you sure it’s fine that we just – _broke into_ her home?”

 

“I do it all the time,” he smirks at me, then holds out a leather-gloved hand, “we can wait until the Guards leave, at least.”

 

I take his hand, then stand up. I waver a bit on my bare feet, but he steadies me with an arm around my waist. He holds me close to him, and I don’t move from his embrace. “Okay,” I murmur, “if you’re sure she won’t kick us out and scream – ‘ _here are the fugitives!’_ ”

 

“Oddly enough, I _can_ see her doing that, but purely as a joke. We will be fine, she loves me.”

 

“I pray you aren’t lying to me.”

 

“Me? _Lie?_ Why would I ever do such a horrible, sinful thing?”

 

“You do it all the time. Habits are difficult to break.”

 

“Ah, listen to you, all – ,” he cuts off his smart comment, then furrows his brows as I tremble, “are – are you cold? Your clothes are still wet.”

 

“I’m a – a little cold,” I admit, then step closer to him.

 

“I’m not much warmer, I’m afraid. I’m as soaked as you are.”

 

“You’re still warmer than I am.”

 

I blush as he smiles wickedly at me. _That_ expression crosses his face, that one that makes me feel electrified emotions I don’t understand, and don’t care to, don’t _want_ to.

 

“I think you just enjoy being close to me, _Apprentice_.”

 

“And what if I do, _Doctor?”_

“Well, I can’t say _I_ mind you being close to me. I – I wouldn’t want you becoming sick from the cold, so – so it’s best if I keep you warm, yes? Yes. Yes it is.”

 

His arm around my waist tightens, then he turns me so that I’m pressed against his chest. Underneath his wet, cold attire I can feel his skin, a faint warmth.

 

I ache to feel his skin on mine. I ache to feel his warmth. I ache to feel _more._

 

The realization of that makes me suffocate.

 

His leather-covered fingers reach up and hold my chin as his other arm presses me against him, closer and closer and _closer_ until I can’t breathe. He flicks out his tongue to lick his bottom lip, then bites it.

 

“That pink color on your cheeks is just _deliciously_ lovely to look at.”

 

“Doctor Devorak – _Julian,_ I – I can’t breathe – ,”

 

– a small, deep-set door behind us rattles, then it _slams_ open as it’s kicked hard from its frame.

 

“Ilya! I thought I smelt you in here.”

 

“ _Smelt_ me?”

 

“And who’s this you’re bein’ all handsy with, in _my_ home?”

 

“Ah – Ah, this is uh – Asra’s Apprentice, she – she and I are – er – _friends.”_

_Friends?_

_Friends – God, when did we become friends?_

_How have I let this happen in such a short time?_

I have half an idea to slap myself, but then Mazelinka approaches me.

 

The old woman grins widely, then reaches past me to pinch Julian’s cheeks. He whines and attempts to wriggle away, but she chases him around the small home. I laugh and slip off to the side.

 

Her clothes are old, torn and worn. Various liquids stain the apron she wears, and dirt covers the dress she has on. There is a shawl tied around her gray, thin hair, that flows down her back as a small cloak.

 

Her wrinkled, tan face scrunches as she pins him to a counter. Her faded brown eyes narrow.

 

“I can’t believe you snuck in here with your _friend_ to be all touchy-touchy with her!”

 

“I – I didn’t! We were running from the Guards!”

 

“You came in through the window again, didn’t you? You slippery boy! I told you not to do that! Just use the door like a normal person!”

 

“I – _We_ couldn’t! Mazelinka, God, please stop hitting me with that damn spoon!”

 

The wooden spoon she has in her hand _thwacks_ him a few more times, then she shoves it back into her apron as she shuffles off somewhere.

 

He huffs out a breath, attempts to stand straight, but hits his auburn head and winces.

 

“Ow, damn woman,” he curses under his breath. He rubs his sore cheeks.

 

“Look who has the _deliciously lovely_ pink cheeks now,” I tease.

 

He frowns at me as I smile at him.

 

Mazelinka comes back into the kitchen. Julian clears his throat, then offers his arm.

 

“Do forgive me, Mazelinka,” he says, “will a kiss make up for what I’ve done?”

 

“Only if you tell me how beautiful I am after,” she retorts, then offers him her cheek.

 

He kisses her on the cheek, then makes a flourish with his arms.

 

“You are a sight for my sore eye and you know it. I love the shawl by the way, is it new?”

 

“Fine. Fine. You’re forgiven boy, for now. You can end the theatrics. You know this isn’t new. You _also_ know that you are allowed here whenever you need to hide, I just did not expect your – _friend.”_

Her gaze finds me.

 

I bite the inside of my cheek, nervous for some reason.

 

“No need to be shy, girl,” she tells me, then lowers her shawl to reveal her coarse hair, “I don’t bite.”

 

“No,” he murmurs, “but she _will_ hit you with a wooden spoon.”

 

“Only you, Ilya. Only you.”

 

“Ah. I feel so loved.”

 

“Not that I don’t love you, Apprentice,” she smiles at me, “any _friend_ of Ilya’s is a friend of mine. Make yourself comfortable. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

“She does – doesn’t she?” he says, mostly to himself. Concern wrinkles his face.

 

“I’m – I’m fine, really,” I say, “it’s just been a – a long night.”

 

“That’s what happens when you become _friends_ with Ilya. Trouble, he is.”

 

“The _good_ kind of trouble, though. Right, Apprentice?”

 

“S – Sure.”

 

Mazelinka titters as she inspects the ruined flowers by the window. Julian pales.

 

“Ah, Mazelinka. I did that. I take _full_ responsibility for that. I wasn’t thinking, and I – I was trying to keep her – keep _us_ from getting caught by the Guards – ,”

 

“ – not like you can easily fit through the door. I understand. Fetch the round pot for me, will you?”

 

He nods, then moves to a cupboard set in the dirt wall behind him. He sorts through the items in it.

 

_They are obviously close to each other._

_He seems so calm here – she must protect him often._

He stumbles a bit as he hands a pot to her. His stare meets mine across the kitchen, and I notice a sheen of wetness in his eye. He smiles at me, exhausted.

 

_Is he just tired? Or is it the wound still?_

_He’s not still bleeding, is he?_

His gaze remains on me, captivated and mesmerized. He doesn’t even blink.

 

He looks dazed, as if he has fallen into some kind of lull.

 

I arch a brow, then approach him. I move him aside, as far from Mazelinka as I can.

 

I stare up at him.

 

“Show me the bite.”

 

“The – Oh. The bite. You want to see? _Now?”_

He glances at Mazelinka, then quickly unfastens his jacket at the bottom and lifts the blood-stained shirt underneath. His pale skin is smooth, unmarred. I touch it out of impulse, which makes him shudder and lick his lips.

 

“What do you think? Good as new, hm? Even the pain has disappeared.”

 

“It has?”

 

“Yes, are you impressed? It’s your Master’s magic. This shouldn’t surprise you.”

 

“I – I’ve never seen him use magic like this. Not that I can remember, at least.”

 

He parts his lips to speak, but then a wooden spoon strikes him on the back of his auburn head. He yanks down his undershirt and re-fastens his jacket, then pouts as he looks at her.

 

“Take this over there, boy,” she orders. I notice there are different, aromatic herbs in the pot.

 

He takes the pot from her, then walks over to a fireplace. I follow behind. “I swear, I don’t know why I – ,” he mutters incoherently to himself as he rests the pot above the flames of the fire.

 

Mazelinka rolls an herb, which is unfamiliar to me, between her fingers. Julian steps aside. I watch.

 

Her tongue _clicks_ in her mouth. “WorryWort’s gone stale. Hm. I’ve got some more in the Garden, pardon me for a moment you two,” she says, picks up a knife on the counter, then hurries outside.

 

The door shuts behind her.

 

I’m left in silence with him, alone together.

 

He slumps against the counter, leans on it with one arm.

 

“Huh. Who would have thought that – _ah_ – that a bite like that would take so much out of me – ,”

 

“ – are you – ,”

 

“ – not to belittle your bite, mind you. I’ve treated a few dozen, unfortunately – you’re the first to make it out alive. Well, you _and_ I.”

 

“Julian, do you need – ,”

 

– he curls in on himself, then makes a pained noise.

 

I rush over to him.

 

He stares down at me, soft and affectionate.

 

“You know, you really are _deliciously lovely_ , Apprentice. I wish I had – more, to offer you.”

 

“I wish you would let me help you for once.”

 

He swallows a lump in his throat. He looks down at his side, then off at nowhere specific.

 

“They’re not usually aggressive, the Eels. They wouldn’t even be here if not for the Count,” he murmurs.

 

I think for a moment, about the Count, about the murder, about _why_ we are here at all, then let out a slow breath. “Tell me, Doctor,” I whisper, “why did you come back?”

 

His eye widens. He avoids looking at me.

 

“I don’t know, honestly.”

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I – ,” he pauses, then blinks a few times, “I need answers. I have too many questions, if I don’t find the truth to them, I’ll lose my mind – but don’t worry about me, I’ll be alright.”

 

“Will you?” I ask.

 

He snaps his focus on me.

 

His expression looks tormented. Emotional pain, that I’ve caused.

 

He shakes his head of auburn curls as he takes off his leather gloves, then with his bare hands, he reaches out for me. He slides his palms from my shoulders to my neck to my scalp, then he lightly scratches his nails against my skin as he strokes my hair.

 

I can’t resist letting out a pleased sound, almost a purr. I lean into his touch and he smiles.

 

“I will. I promise.”

 

“I have a feeling you break promises.”

 

“Not to you,” he says softly, “I have some questions for your Master, it shouldn’t be too dangerous to find him and keep him in one spot. If you knew the – the _years_ – the _distance_ I’ve gone to find him – ah, but what does it matter? I’ve met you, and that’s made it all worth it.”

 

“Sweet talker,” I murmur, “but you haven’t – ,”

 

– he leans forward, enraptured by me, or perhaps he just wants to keep me quiet.

 

His lips brush mine, but then he looks behind me with a dilated pupil. He stills.

 

“Ilya!”

 

“Mazelinka! God! I – I didn’t even hear you come back in.”

 

“When was the last time you slept, boy? You look like you’re about to pass out too!”

 

“I – I don’t really need to sleep, not since I have the – ,”

 

“ – Curse shmurse. We all need sleep. _Especially_ you.”

 

“I – I’m _fine._ I swear. Haven’t felt this good in a while.”

 

He yawns, which makes me yawn.

 

I blink as a wave of lethargy washes over me. He flushes with heat as he looks down.

 

“See? You both need rest!”

 

“I’m _fine.”_

“Your lady _friend_ isn’t,” she points out, a sudden seriousness in her tone, “you see her? Can barely keep herself standin’ up! Unlike you, she has no Curse! Will you let her suffer this lack of sleep, boy, or will you go and lay down with her?”

 

He looks at me, stricken. It seems what she said convinced him. “I – Fine. We can rest until the soup is done,” he says, then interlocks our arms.

 

“Go on, then. Seein’ as you clearly can’t keep your hands off her.”

 

“I – I _can_ keep my hands off her.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I can! I – Nevermind. Come on, Apprentice.”

 

He and I take two steps, then Mazelinka waves a wooden spoon in the air.

 

“Make sure he rests! You might have to pin him to the bed, girl. Understood?”

 

“I – I’ll make sure he rests.”

 

He halts as he pushes aside a curtain that veils another small, confined room.

 

He flushes hot, a dark pink color warms his neck, cheeks, and ears.

 

He then steps into the room and pulls me with him.

 

The curtain falls behind us.


	14. XIV

I stand still and stare at him.

 

He crosses the small room to sit down on a bed in the corner. He doesn’t look at me as he takes off his coat and gloves, then bends down to pull off his boots and socks. The moment he can he throws it all aside, then cards his thin fingers through his auburn curls.

 

I wait a few moments, then I close the distance between us.

 

He remains with his arms over his head.

 

I kneel down; lift his coat to throw it over the back of a wooden chair, then I do the same with his wet socks and gloves. I take his boots and hide them underneath the chair.

 

I hesitate as I blink, breathe, think.

 

_It’s dark in here._

With a flick of my wrist, I light a candle melted onto a table beside the bed.

 

The flame sparks, then undulates as a soft, cool breeze drifts into the room.

 

I look at him.

 

He still doesn’t look at me.

 

His shadow dances across the wall behind him as the flame rolls, and I watch, transfixed, then notice droplets _drip, drip, drip_ from his nose, his chin.

 

“Julian,” I whisper, “let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

 

He shakes his head as he tightens his hold in his hair. “I – I’m fine.”

 

“You’re getting the bed all wet. Sit up for me.”

 

“I – I can do it.”

 

He sniffles as he sits up straight, then undoes the buttons of his dark jacket. His hands tremble, so much so – that he can’t undo the last button. I reach out and undo it for him. He breathes through his mouth as he shrugs off the jacket, then hands it to me.

 

“You’re too kind to me,” he murmurs.

 

I snicker. “Blame Asra. His sweetness has rubbed off on me.”

 

“No you’re – you’re different. Better. Kinder.”

 

“I won’t tell him you said that. He might be offended.”

 

He smiles but the smile is weak; half-hearted.

 

I throw his jacket over the chair on top of his coat and socks and gloves.

 

“Shirt next,” I tell him.

 

“I – I’d rather leave it on,” he admits. His cheeks burn with heat.

 

“It’s all wet.”

 

“Your clothes are wet too. Why don’t you take yours off?”

 

I smirk at him. “I can if you want me to.”

 

He blanches. “I – I mean – ,” he chokes on his wit, “ – I uh – wouldn’t mind.”

 

“But you have to take yours off.”

 

“Fine. An eye-for-an-eye then.”

 

I move to pull off the soaked sweater I have on, but he puts his hand over mine to stop me. I almost shiver out of my own skin – the sensation of his hand; his _bare_ hand feels so much more intimate than when he’s touched me with leather between our skin.

 

He keeps his gray eye on me as he pulls my hand towards him.

 

“I have an idea.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Since we both have to undress, why don’t we undress each other?”

 

“Hm. Sounds interesting. But – ,”

 

“ – what? I thought you liked risk and thrill, Apprentice?”

 

“I do, but what if – ,”

 

– _what if I can’t control myself? What if you can’t control yourself?_

_What if we do something we can’t ever take back?_

I bite my lip; nerves overcome me. He arches a mischievous brow.

 

“Scared?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then – ,”

 

“ – fine, fine. I take off your clothes first, though.”

 

He raises his hands in surrender, then leans back on the bed in a seductive pose. I have to resist both huffing out an annoyed breath and taking in the sight of him – I both hate and love what I feel for him, the torrent of emotions that I know I shouldn’t feel.

 

His chest heaves up and down as I lean over him, then reach out to pull apart his undershirt.

 

His pale skin is damp, the white shirt is cold and wet and has a bloodstain on the side of it. It reminds me of the fear I had felt; how afraid I was when I thought he was about to die for something _I_ should have died for.

 

He slides his arms out of the sleeves of the shirt, then I, once I brace myself on his muscled chest, throw the shirt over the chair with his other attire. He sighs in pleasure as I absentmindedly scratch my nails through his soft chest hair.

 

“You are _horribly_ cold, Apprentice,” he exhales, “I think it’s your turn now, hm?”

 

I falter; flooded with anxiousness. “Can – Can we just undress you?” I ask quietly.

 

“That’s no fun, darling. Well, it’s only _half-_ fun.”

 

“I – I just haven’t – Asra is the only person to see me – without – without uh – ,”

 

– he reaches up one hand to caress my cheek, then rubs his thumb back and forth.

 

“Then Asra is the luckiest person alive,” he smiles, and that look somehow lifts what doubt was about to drown me. “You are beautiful, Apprentice. I’d bet whatever I have that you are even more beautiful underneath these clothes,” his voice is a whisper, as he pinches the sweater.

 

I flush with embarrassment; arousal. “I – If you really want me to – ,”

 

“ – let me say, that I will not make you. I would never. But I would _love_ to show you how beautiful you are. It is up to you, though. I’m more than content with whatever you will offer me, no matter what we do, I have fun.”

 

“You do?”

 

He nods, then brushes some loose hair behind my ear.

 

His smile is so Goddamned heart-melting that I think I’m about to sob.

 

I lean off of him without a word, then move to straddle his waist. His lips part; a silent breath he intakes. I take his hands in mine, then leave them to rest on my hips.

 

“An eye-for-an-eye,” I tease, “whenever you please, Doctor.”

 

He beams with excitement and – some other emotion. “I will take my time,” he promises, then sits up as his hands slide to the hem of my sweater, “I want to savor this.”

 

I shudder as he slowly, slowly, _slowly_ pushes the sweater up my body.

 

“Julian,” I whine.

 

He smirks against the flat of my stomach. “Impatient, are we? I haven’t even started.”

 

I swallow other noises as he pulls the wet sweater over my head, then throws it to the floor. His large, nimble hands reach behind me; to the clasp of my breastband. He undoes it without hesitation, then throws it to the floor as well.

 

“Mm,” he sighs, then nuzzles my breasts when I attempt to cover them.

 

I burn all over; each part of me aflame. “Ju – _Julian._ Stop that. Your hair tickles.”

 

He slides his smooth hands across each inch of exposed skin; his warmth radiates into me. He kisses and nips the soft flesh of my breasts, then holds each one in his palms. He squeezes them and I squeak, which makes him chuckle.

 

“Beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful; why would you ever feel insecure?”

 

“I – I have scars, and I’m kinda – kinda soft.”

 

“I have scars too, and I love your softness.”

 

“Your scars are attractive though. It fits well with your whole personality.”

 

“Yours tell a story,” he breathes, then kisses a scar on the underside of one of my arms. He then kisses another across my abdomen. “A story I want to know,” his kisses turn fervent, hot and wet, “will you tell them to me?”

 

“Maybe later,” I mutter, “I – I’m _supposed_ to be making you rest.”

 

“Oh? You came to tuck me in then?”

 

“You _forced_ me to come in here with you.”

 

“You looked – _look_ – exhausted,” he says, “and I’ll admit; so am I. I know when I’m beat. That bite and all that running took a lot out of me, I’m afraid.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” I huff, “I’m not used to it like you are.”

 

He hums under his breath, then licks one of my hard nipples. I shiver.

 

“Is that wound healed?” I blurt out.

 

He takes a second to respond. “Yes. You saw it earlier; all healed.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s my own body. When it comes to healing, it takes as long as it takes, whether I like it or not, isn’t it amazing? I’m in the _I-Need-Sleep-Desperately_ phase at the moment, but now I don’t want to sleep.”

 

“You should. Mazelinka was right; you look close to death.”

 

“Isn’t it funny? Stab me in the back, and I’ll walk it off. But healing will take everything I’ve got. Can’t escape it. Ever. It just – happens. Like a punishment.”

 

_I think you like being punished, though._

I smile as I run my fingers through his auburn curls.

 

I feel the cord of his eyepatch. I’m about to ask if he wants to take it off –

 

“ – what in the – Ilya! I knew it! Can’t keep your hands off her!”

 

“Mazelinka? _Seriously?_ What in God’s name – oh, the soup.”

 

He takes a thick, warm blanket and throws it over me so I’m covered.

 

_Great, now I can’t see._

_But I can smell the soup. Smells good._

“Tsk. Drink this, Ilya. Apprentice, will you be staying the night as well?”

 

“I – I suppose so, yes.”

 

I hear him splutter, so I pull the blanket off of me to wrap it around me instead.

 

He has a wooden bowl in one hand and soup droplets on his chin; the spoon is slack in his other hand. He wipes his chin as he pouts.

 

“Oh. It’s _that_ kind of soup?”

 

“I won’t let you run yourself into the grave. You’re still human, Ilya.”

 

He mumbles and turns his auburn head away, which, in response, she storms up to us on the bed to take the bowl from him. I think she is about to force feed him herself, when out of nowhere, she shoves the bowl into my hands.

 

“Would you be a dear and see that he drinks? I have a feeling he’ll do whatever you want.”

 

“What for? I’m not even feeling tired any – any mo – mo – oo – re.”

 

He yawns, and I yawn too.

 

He rubs his one exposed eye, then blinks wearily at me.

 

Behind me, I feel a pat on my back, then I hear her footsteps fade as she leaves the room.

 

“Stop foolin’ around Ilya! Drink the soup!”

 

“I’m not – _we’re_ not – fooling around!”

 

He mutters in frustration as he crosses his arms over his chest.

 

I laugh; the candlelight in the room flares brighter. It makes him stare in wonder.

 

He then looks at the bowl in my hands. He sniffs the steam that rises from it.

 

“She makes this soup when I can’t sleep. Bless her. Even when I’m beyond stressed; raving, beating my fists against the walls – don’t know what she puts in it, but it works like a charm.”

 

“I have an idea of what might be in it.”

 

I look down into the soup; a golden brew. It shimmers in the dim light.

 

I’m about to tell him about all the herbs and tonics and whatnot I smell in it; but then I look back up at him. He has a certain _shine_ in his eye, that shine that leaves me breathless. He tilts his auburn head to the side as he waits; patient. He licks the seam of his lips, unhurried.

 

“It tastes fantastic.”

 

“Does it?”

 

I dip one of my fingers into the brew, then paint some of it on my lower lip.

 

I lick the rest and _pop_ the finger out of my mouth.

 

His pupil dilates so much his whole eye becomes black.

 

“Apprentice.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Set the bowl down.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

His voice is so deep and rough that I can barely understand him.

 

“The bowl; set it on that table,” he orders.

 

I lean over to set the bowl down, then settle into his lap. “Okay, now wha – ,”

 

– he cuts me off with a desperate kiss, one that takes the air out of my lungs.


	15. XV

“Come here. Come closer.”

 

“C – Closer?”

 

He wraps his arms around me, then pulls me down onto the bed with him. He moans into my mouth as he kisses me deeper; his tongue parts my lips as he rolls me underneath him.

 

I squirm as he swallows all the little noises I make, as I tangle my fingers in his auburn curls.

 

He breaks the kiss for a moment. “Closer, I need – ,” he breathes, “ – you, more of you.”

 

“Julian, we shouldn’t,” I whimper.

 

“What’s wrong? Is it – is this too much? You can tell me. I’ll be good for you,” he whispers.

 

“No – No. It’s just – we’re not _alone_ really.”

 

“Mazelinka won’t hear us. We just have to be quiet.”

 

_“Julian – ,”_

“ – what? I’m serious. I can keep quiet if I need to.”

 

“That’s not the issue. She could walk in – whenever.”

 

“She won’t.”

 

“Julian.”

 

“She _won’t._ I swear. Please let me keep kissing you. You taste wonderful.”

 

“Better than the soup?”

 

“Heh. _Much_ better than the soup.”

 

“Still,” I murmur.

 

He kisses the side of my mouth, a tease. “Please? _Pretty_ please?”

 

_He won’t ever rest, will he?_

_Especially not with me half-naked underneath him._

I huff out a breath as his hot, wet lips caress my oversensitive skin.

 

_I need to make him rest._

_As much as I want him to keep kissing me – damn it all._

I push against his chest with my palms; a force he doesn’t expect.

 

He lets out a gasp as I roll him onto his back, then straddle his hips with my legs. He almost purrs in pleasure as he slides his hands up my waist, then to my exposed breasts where he teases my hard nipples.

 

I hiss between my teeth.

 

“ _Julian – ,”_

“ – hm?”

 

He sounds so innocent and oblivious that I chuckle a bit.

 

I press my palms harder down on his pale, hairy chest.

 

He’s forced to lay spread-out beneath me, with his arms over his head in a surrender-like manner. He smirks as he twists his lithe body beneath me, stretching himself more on the small bed. He moves his hips and I feel – a _sensation,_ one that leaves me stunned.

 

_Was that –_

_– I think it was._

_He’s hard. Oh God._

I roll my hips over top of him and he groans, then clutches to the sheets beneath him.

 

_“Apprentice – ,”_

“ – God, Julian. You just don’t want to rest, do you?”

 

“This feels to good to stop, darling.”

 

“Alas, we must.”

 

He looks at me with his one gray eye; both of his auburn brows arch up.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Don’t – Don’t mess around anymore.”

 

He licks his lips, then thrusts his hips up so I can _feel_ him.

 

His muscles flex as I claw my nails into his chest, then move my hips on top of him without thought. He holds me by my waist as he kisses my stomach, then slides his lips up, up, up.

 

I pin him back down onto the bed before I lose too much of my senses.

 

“You know, I was told you’d need to be pinned.”

 

“If it’s you doing the pinning, trust me – I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“God, you are terrible.”

 

“That’s a compliment, right?”

 

“If you want it to be.”

 

“I think you _like_ how terrible I am, Apprentice.”

 

“I do?”

 

“Yes. Otherwise, you would have turned me in the moment you met me.”

 

I hesitate for a moment, then scratch my nails harder down his chest.

 

His pale skin reddens, then he flushes from his navel to his ears as he lets out a moan. He wriggles beneath me but I keep him where he is, which he doesn’t seem to mind. His eye is dilated, focused on me with rapt attention.

 

“You like pain, don’t you?”

 

“Just realized that, hm?”

 

“I think I knew a while ago. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

 

“Well, this seems to be a good time for it.”

 

I smile, then lean down and kiss the marks I left on his skin.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you, though,” I admit in a soft tone.

 

He remains silent for a time. “You don’t?”

 

“I’d much rather make you feel good in other ways.”

 

“But I _like_ the pain. It isn’t bad if I like it.”

 

“Not that it’s bad it’s just – _I_ feel bad.”

 

“You shouldn’t. I like it. I like – I like you. I’d let you do anything to me.”

 

The words are slurred out of his mouth so fast that I barely hear them.

 

He stiffens as I lift my head up, then brush some loose hair behind my ear.

 

_Did he just – ? I think he did._

_He said he likes me._

 

He blushes as he looks away from me; his bottom lip bitten so hard it bleeds.

 

“Julian, I – ,”

 

“ – I know we joke and tease each other and – and whatnot, but I really do like you. I have ever since that night you snuck out of the Palace and found yourself near the Rowdy Raven, all alone in the dark and hurt. What are the chances I’d see you?”

 

“Didn’t you tell me you’re in there _all the time?”_

“But what are the chances I’d come out and see _you?_ Again? I had – I had hoped, that after our last encounter I’d see you again, but I didn’t think I would. Miracles never happen to me, but then – then there you were, and I – I think I – ,”

 

“ – that’s enough for now, you two.”

 

Mazelinka’s voice cuts in from outside the curtain.

 

_Oh for fuck's sake._

_How did I know?_

I wipe my mouth as I move off of him, then take a blanket to wrap around me.

 

He clicks his tongue as he sits up, then rests both of his arms over the bulge in the crotch of his pants. He runs a hand through his wild hair as he looks at me, then at the curtain as her steps come closer, closer, and closer.

 

_So that’s what happened that night?_

_I got drunk with him, when I should have been inside the Palace sleeping?_

_Why did I even leave?_

I can’t remember; I want to ask him, but Mazelinka is in front of us.

 

“I trust you’ll be sharing the bed with him? Unless you’d rather sleep in the hiding hole? and I’ll cozy in with him.”

 

“I’ll – I’ll sleep with him.”

 

Mazelinka huffs out a breath as she pats Julian on his ruffled auburn head.

 

“There you have it. Don’t worry, I’ll be an absolute gentleman,” he says.

 

“Oh, will you? Apprentice, hold him to that,” she retorts.

 

“Absolutely. Hold me however you want, Apprentice.”

 

“Oh for – get some sleep already, Ilya!”

 

“That I can’t promise you.”

 

“Then promise it to her. I’m sure you’ll keep it, then.”

 

I watch as she leaves; the last I see of her is her shawl and her thin, dull hair.

 

He exhales as he stands up, then stretches his limbs. He paces around the small room, back and forth, back and forth. I watch him for a while; transfixed as I mull over what he said before he was interrupted.

 

I arch a brow as he looks down at me.

 

“Why are you pacing?”

 

“I – I just need to let out some jitters I have.”

 

“Jitters?”

 

“Yes. Jitters.”

 

He lays down on the old wooden floor, then lifts himself up onto his palms.

 

He pushes himself up and down, up and down; meanwhile, I stare.

 

“What in God’s name, Julian?”

 

“ _Jitters.”_

“If you have _jitters,_ then you need to relax. Not exercise like a madman.”

 

“This will do fine, Apprentice. Give me a moment or two.”

 

He pushes himself up and down a few more dozen times, then collapses onto the floor.

 

His expression darkens a bit as he looks at me, then at where I have my arms over my chest.

 

“You might have to put your sweater back on.”

 

“It’s all wet.”

 

“I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

 

“Oh, come on. I know you have more self-control than this.”

 

“I do not,” he confesses as he pulls on his hair, “your breasts are so soft.”

 

“Don’t think about my breasts,” I tell him, “think about – think about sleep. Aren’t you tired?”

 

“Not anymore. I blame it entirely on you.”

 

“Oh? _Me?”_

“Yes, you. You with your beautiful body and soft breasts and sweet voice – ,”

 

“ – oh for the love of – get back on the bed, Julian. _Sleep.”_

He mutters under his breath as he stands up, then falls back onto the bed.

 

His long form stretches out; I’m forced to one corner near the pillows.

 

“Look at this, Apprentice. Nice and spacious.”

 

“For you, perhaps. You take up the whole bed.”

 

He lifts up the sheets he slides underneath; a welcome for me to join him. I consider it, then decide to throw the blanket wrapped around me over his head so he can’t see. I move underneath the sheets and blankets with him, then turn on my side so my back is to him.

 

His warm breath tickles my neck as he snuggles behind me.

 

“I hope I’m not coming on too strong – oh. I’d love to make something real with you.”

 

“Real?”

 

“If we had more time – maybe if I wasn’t who I am – ,”

 

“ – Julian.”

 

I hush him as I look over my shoulder at him; I see a bittersweet expression on his face.

 

“Don’t mind me. Just rambling. I must really be exhausted.”

 

“Which is why you should sleep, hm?”

 

He smiles; a tired but content sound leaves him as he leans forward to kiss me.

 

I moan as his lips touch mine.

 

His bare chest presses against my back; I can feel his heartbeat, the rapid throb of his pulse.

 

_He’s kissing me like he expects me to just disappear._

He holds me and I forget; I forget who he is, who I am; I forget it all.

 

There’s just us – the blankets around us, the candlelight between us, and his lips on mine.

 

He pulls back slowly; takes his lips off of mine. His cheeks are flushed with warmth and his eye is dark with lust. He and I just might be exhausted, but to me, at this moment, he has never looked so beautiful.

 

“Goodnight, Apprentice.”

 

“Goodnight, Doctor.”

 

He lays down as his arms twine around me, then he holds me closer to him.

 

The candle on the table is snuffed out with a flick of my wrist; the bowl of soup forgotten.


	16. XVI

I’m half-awake when I hear a door creak shut.

 

_What – ?_

It’s difficult for me to remember where I am and what has happened, but the moment I feel him against me I remember it all. His skin is like fire, warm and comforting. I know it’s him even with my eyes closed.

 

_Julian._

_We didn’t – ? No. We just slept._

_Thank God._

I’m not sure what would have happened if we –

 

If we –

 

I let out a deep breath, then rub the sleep from the corners of my eyes.

 

Each movement makes me realize the pain I’m in; the headache and parched throat and tenderness in the muscles of my neck. It isn’t comfortable, really, except for the man who is deep in slumber beside me.

 

I look at him through blurry vision.

 

His expression is content. He makes little noises as he latches onto a pillow, then spreads his legs further apart across the bed. His auburn curls are wild and unkempt, draped over the black eyepatch. His pale skin is moonlit; shadowed by darkness.

 

_Is it still night?_

I roll off the small bed with little effort, since he has taken up most of it.

 

I move quick and quiet around the room.

 

I find all of our clothes draped over the chair.

 

_Magic should be fine now, hm?_

I cast a careful glance at him, then summon a small orb of flames in my palm. It illuminates the room, which I see is crammed full of various potions and herbs and other spellbooks.

 

How he hasn’t noticed this, I don’t know.

 

But _I_ know that Mazelinka is definitely into – at least _some_ kind of magic.

 

The heat absorbs all the moisture leftover from the night before, and while it does, I amble over to a tall shelf piled with exotic herbs.

 

I stare in awe at them.

 

Their smell reminds me of the Shop; earthy and potent.

 

Before the flames die out, I recognize a pile of herbs that Master shares with me for my headaches. I reach out to pinch one stalk between my fingers, then twirl it around a few times to make sure it is what I think it is.

 

The sharp scent of mint is undeniable.

 

_I’m sure she won’t mind me taking one or two._

The flames dissipate, and so I pluck the leaves off of one stalk, then I do the same to another one. I press the leaves onto my tongue, one by one; I let the liquid seep out into my mouth and I immediately feel relief.

 

I chew on the leaves then swallow them, then suck on the mint liquid left behind.

 

_Wait –_

_I think I remember now._

I stare at him and watch as the muscles of his back flex and move underneath his taut skin. The blankets are all tangled around his long legs, leaving his top-half exposed. He has scars that I want to touch, mars that I want to know the story of.

 

I touch my cold lips.

 

_Oh, Doctor._

_You’ve kissed me before last night, haven’t you?_

I remember now, and it feels _good._

Most of my memories are forever lost to me, but this –

 

– _this_ I will hold onto no matter what.

 

_What an idiot I must’ve seemed like._

I feel my cheeks burn in embarrassment as I search for my breastband, which was thrown somewhere on the wooden floor. I find it and put it on, then I take my sweater off the chair and throw it over my head.

 

I slide my arms through the sleeves, then let out a pleased sigh.

 

_It seems the spell worked. Even my leggings and smalls are dry._

I make sure his clothes are dried off too before I turn to leave the small room.

 

I stretch and yawn, still exhausted.

 

_Maybe I could just go back to sleep._

 

I push the curtain aside; the light of dawn shines through a small window in the kitchen.

 

I take one step forward –

 

“N – No, please – ,”

 

“ – Julian?”

 

He doesn’t hear me. He’s still asleep.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry – ,”

 

“ – Julian!”

 

He flails off the bed, but I cast a levitation spell in time to catch him before he hits the hard floor. I release the curtain as I rush back into the room, then once he’s laid out on the floor, I dismiss the spell.

 

He blinks as I kneel beside him.

 

He looks worried, almost terrified, but then once he sees me, he calms down.

 

His head _thuds_ onto the floor as he smiles wryly.

 

“Apprentice. Did I wake you?”

 

“Just gave me a small heart-attack.”

 

“I – Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

 

“You – You didn’t. I just – are you okay?”

 

I reach out to brush auburn curls from his sweat-covered brow.

 

He seems to purr at my touch, then leans into the palm of my hand.

 

“Let’s get you off the floor,” I tell him.

 

“I don’t know if I can stand,” he admits.

 

I untangle the sheets from his legs, then throw them onto the bed.

 

He trembles as I help him stand, and though we’re close, he keeps his gaze far from mine.

 

As if that can hide him from me.

 

As if he _wants_ to hide from me.

 

I swallow down the last of my nerves.

 

“It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

 

“Did it?”

 

He still won’t look at me.

 

I sit him down on the bed, then straddle his lap.

 

He’s forced to stare at me – eye to eyes, and the closeness makes him flush pink.

 

“That would be – because I was. Having a nightmare, that is,” he confesses.

 

“You don’t have to hide from me,” I say.

 

“I do.”

 

“Why?”

 

“What kind of man am I if – if I sob and scream in my sleep like a child?”

 

“Everyone has nightmares. Even I do. Hell, I have the _worst_ nightmares.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. There was this one time when it took Asra _three days_ to get me to stop crying.”

 

“How did he calm you?”

 

“I believe it took two loaves of pumpkin bread and lots of chamomile tea.”

 

He smiles at me as we both let out half-hearted chuckles.

 

But then his somber expression comes back.

 

“Seems silly in the light of day. Or, er – dawn. It wasn’t real – was it?”

 

“No. It wasn’t.”

 

I’m not sure if that’s the truth.

 

I know nightmares can be illusions, but they can also be memories.

 

Or visions of the future.

 

But I –

 

I want to comfort him, and if that means lying, then so be it.

 

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, “why were you out of bed?”

 

“I was uh – drying off our clothes,” I mumble.

 

“Oh? Hm? How come your breath smells like mint?”

 

“I took some herbs.”

 

“ _Those_ herbs.”

 

“Yes.”

 

He smirks. “You remember, then?”

 

I blush. “I – Most of it, yes.”

 

He leans forward and kisses the column of my throat.

 

His lips touch my ear.

 

“What was the real reason you were up?”

 

“I – I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Oh? Hm. Lucky for you. I’ve got some experience in the field of insomnia. Have you tried lying in bed consumed with guilt for every mistake you’ve ever made? If that doesn’t work, you can try pacing and muttering to yourself. Or feverishly writing letters you’ll never send.”

 

“None of those seem like they would help you sleep.”

 

“Well, they won’t put you back to sleep, but they’ll pass the time, at least.”

 

“There are better ways to pass the time, you know.”

 

I smirk at him as I tangle my fingers in his hair, then kiss the side of his face.

 

I pepper him with thousands of kisses – each one a whisper, that I hope eases him.

 

He moans as I bite his neck lightly.

 

His hands hold my waist tight, then he pulls me closer.

 

“I wish we had more time, but I’m just being selfish, aren’t I?”

 

“You’re not being selfish.”

 

His warm breath touches my skin as he sighs, then he falls onto the bed on his back. He throws his arm over his forehead as I crawl over him. He refuses to look at me, but I look at him – transfixed, in a way, as he nibbles his lower lip.

 

“Do you believe in forgiveness?”

 

“Forgiveness?”

 

“You – You told me, that night I found you stumbling around in the alleys, that you’d forgive me for whatever I did. You don’t even _know_ what I’ve done. You sounded so sure, though, so utterly _sure_ and I just – I didn’t know what to think.”

 

“I’m glad my drunk-self moved you so.”

 

The tension eases from him as he laughs, then rubs his one grey eye.

 

“Since you’re not drunk, let me ask: do you think – that even truly heinous things can be forgiven? Or are there some things you don’t get to come back from?”

 

“You can come back.”

 

It’s not what I want to tell him.

 

It’s not what he wants to hear.

 

But it’s how I feel.

 

I know that some will never forgive; it will haunt the rest of his life.

 

He can’t stop living because of it, though.

 

“You truly think so?” he asks.

 

“You can always come back,” I assure him.

 

“If I could just remember – then I would know. If what I’ve done is something unforgivable.”

 

“What will you do if it is?”

 

“I – If I can’t make it right, then I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve. Without question.”

 

“What if the punishment is death?”

 

I know my words sound full of emotion and hurt.

 

The thought of him leaving –

 

Leaving _me_ –

 

I can’t think of it.

 

He’s looking at me now.

 

His one eye is blown wide in shock and inner turmoil.

 

“Well isn’t this a dour conversation. Ah, don’t mind me, Apprentice. It’s just the sleep deprivation talking. Five cups of coffee and I’ll get the pep back in my step.”

 

“I think I need some coffee too.”

 

_Especially now with this anxiety swelling inside me._

_He didn’t answer me._

_What does that mean?_

I can’t force him to talk, but I _can_ force him to do other things.

 

I lay on him so that he can’t move, then I wrap my arms around his torso.

 

I curl on top of him, with my head under his chin.

 

He strokes my hair, then my neck, then my back –

 

“Is this what we’re doing now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

His chest heaves underneath me as he breathes, and I can hear his heartbeat. Each _thump;_ a sound that I memorize well.

 

His hand soon stills on the back of my sweater, and then the rest of his body slumps.

 

His heart is still beating rapidly though, far too fast to rest.

 

“Julian, you have to relax.”

 

“Right. Sorry.”

 

He takes in a deep breath, and I can tell he’s about to speak.

 

“You need to sleep.”

 

“I wanted to say thank you, Apprentice.”

 

“Thank me after you get some sleep.”

 

“You may never get your thanks, then.”

 

I let the concern and unease fade as I shut my eyes.

 

I soon drift off to sleep, soothed by the beat of his heart.

 

_Thump. Thump. Thump –_


	17. XVII

I’m still tired when I wake, and as I do, I hear birds chirping outside and can feel warm sunlight caressing my face. _It must be morning –_ I yawn and stretch as I sit up, then, after some time, I realize that the man who was beneath me when I fell asleep is not there anymore.

 

_Julian –_

_Where are you?_

_Did he run off?_

I touch the sheets, which are cold, and the lack of heat makes his absence all the more hurtful. I miss his warmth. I miss him being close to me. I miss –

 

_Dammit._

He must have thrown a blanket over me because there _is_ one over me, and I have to throw it off as I squirm off of the bed. I look around the room for him, but he isn’t here, and I see that the bowl of soup on the table is empty, the candle beside it burned down to the wick.

 

_When did he leave?_

_Why did he leave?_

_How long have I been – ?_

I rub my eyes as I push a curtain aside, then step into the kitchen. Mazelinka’s little place is dead quiet – save for the birds, and the creak of the wood floor as I wander about. I make sure I have clothes on before I sit down at a table, then slump forward in the chair and sigh.

 

_What did I do?_

_Did I take it too far? Did we take it too far?_

_Did I scare him?_

_What if I never see him again – ?_

“Oh. You’re – er, already up.”

 

“Julian!”

 

I jolt up out of the chair, then leap towards him, excited by the adrenaline now thrumming through me. I smile up at him and lean in to embrace him, but then I see the somber expression on his face and understand that –

 

_Oh._

_He probably doesn’t want a hug._

_What did I do wrong?_

Embarrassed, I shuffle backwards and wrap my arms around myself. He stares down at me, a little curious, a little sad, then pouts his thin lips as he looks off the side.

 

“Listen, Apprentice. We – We need to talk.”

 

“T – Talk?”

 

_Oh God._

_That doesn’t sound good._

Here I am, so happy that he didn’t _leave_ me, so happy that he’s still _here_ –

 

_I don’t want to hear what he has to say._

It sounds selfish, even in my thoughts, but I know for sure that whatever is on his mind is something I don’t want to talk about. He and I aren’t the best at talking. We usually can’t, or avoid it, and if we do – well, we never talk about anything pleasant.

 

I swallow nervously as I look at him sheepishly, a little scared.

 

“Okay. We can uh – talk.”

 

“Good. Good – but not here. Let’s go to the Market, shall we? More places to talk.”

 

_Here he goes again –_

_Trying to avoid this as much as possible, just like I am –_

_We truly are both terrible people._

I nod, drowned in silence, unsure what to say. I use the ribbon around my wrist to tie my tangled hair up, then I shadow behind him as he moves towards the door. He stops, just as soon as I finish with my hair, then turns around and looks down at my feet.

 

“I should buy you some shoes, hm?”

 

“You don’t have to do that. My boots are still at the Palace, somewhere – ,”

 

“Please, it would be my _pleasure.”_

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

I chuckle as he pulls open the door, then smirks at me with _that_ smirk –

 

_Why does he have to be so handsome?_

_Why do his lips have to look so kissable?_

_Why am I so relieved he didn’t leave me?_

_Dammit. Dammit. Dammit –_

“After you, my dear.”

 

“You shouldn’t call me that, Julian. Not if – not if – ,”

 

It hurts more when he’s sweet to me. It hurts to think I will have this – _whatever this is_ – torn from me, likely soon. I can’t take him filling my heart with warmth only to shatter it, then leave it cold and bleeding out. Just the idea of what this _talk_ is about has my eyes burning.

 

_Not if I can’t be your dear forever._

_Because then what’s the point?_

He doesn’t speak, rather he leads me out of the door then closes it behind us. I blink as the light of day hits me, then I _remember._ I remember who Julian is. I remember our situation. He’s dressed in his usual clothes, his black and red attire and coat. He’s totally noticeable.

 

His distinct auburn curls are a mess on the top of his head, and as much as I want to run my fingers through them like I did last night, I know I shouldn’t. Instead I face him then adjust the collar of his undershirt, so the white sticks out under his coat.

 

“You sure you’ll be safe going out like this? Everyone will recognize you – ,”

 

“Don’t worry. The Guards don’t usually patrol in the morning. We should be fine.”

 

He hooks one of his arms with one of mine, then takes me away from Mazelinka’s house and the outskirts of the district. We amble deeper into this unfamiliar part of town, _his_ part of town, and soon we come out of a winding, long alley out to a sidestreet bustling with people.

 

He locks our arms tighter as the crowd around us becomes thicker and thicker.

 

I know none of the people, and they don’t seem to know me, but they _all_ seem to know Julian. Despite the area looking rather decrepit, there are makeshift stalls all over and hundreds of people all shouting and conversing.

 

There’s a dense mist in the air, which clouds around us, and sparkles as streams of light hit it. The scent of fruits, spices, and other delicacies is potent. I can almost taste the rich smell.

 

The street underneath my bare feet is cold, a little wet, made of scattered stones that are worn and have been broken off. Lit lamps line the sides of the street, the flames kept alive by a faint magic I can barely sense.

 

Noise becomes dull after some time. Colors blur as one. We walk and walk and walk –

 

“Apprentice, about that talk – ah! Wait! I nearly forgot. First things first. Mazelinka left a shopping list for us. Just a few ingredients to pick up. Let’s see. Let’s see. Pickled Tingleberry, Charred Newt Flesh, Articulated Goosewart – ,”

 

“Interesting ingredients.”

 

“She uses them for her folk remedies. Most effective pep-up soup I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot of soup.”

 

“Julian, does uh – does Mazelinka practice magic? These are all spell ingredients.”

 

“What?” he laughs, “these things? Nonsense. They’re ingredients for medicines. Effective ones, too.”

 

I glance at the ingredients on the list he’s holding. “These are definitely magical. We keep some of these at the Shop.”

 

“It’s not magic. No one chanted nonsense from a fancy but ominous tome. There were no glowing circles and weird runes. No one bled.”

 

“That’s what you think magic is?”

 

“That’s what it _is,”_ he emphasizes, sounding uncomfortable.

 

I arch a brow, confused. “Does magic bother you?”

 

“I – er – of course not. It’s just – I don’t – understand it. Never have. But these remedies, I understand. You mix things together, chop them up, and they work, or they don’t, and you try something different. It might not be this way for everyone, but for me, magic’s the same.”

 

“The same?”

 

“Some things work. Some don’t. But you keep trying until you find what does. Hm. Where have I heard that before – ? Ah, doesn’t matter. Look at you, knowing things. And then me. All I know is that I don’t know.”

 

“I think you know a lot. A lot more than I do, even.”

 

He barks out a laugh, then exhales and stares longingly down at me.

 

His eye sparkles under the light of dawn, a contrast to the frown of his lips.

 

“So, about that talk – ,”

 

“Jules, that you? Ain’t seen you in the city for years. You old dog! What’re you doin’ here, eh?”

 

“Tilde! Good to see you. How’s the wife? Still having those headaches?”

 

“She’s doin’ fine. Still talkin’ ‘bout moving to Prakra. What’re we gonna do that for? They don’t got a leech market there.”

 

The woman who called out to Julian – _Tilde?_ – throws a sack full of leeches over her shoulder, then smiles widely in spite of her lack of teeth and waves. Beside me, Julian slides his arm out of mine, then holds my hand tightly.

 

He yanks me through masses and mobs alike, a content expression on his face as dozens of people shout out to him. I’m lost and dazed, a short, small presence behind him as he meets and catches up with hundreds of blurred faces.

 

He’s out of breath when we’re alone, underneath a canopy of a melon stall.

 

“So, listen. We need to – ,”

 

“Watch it! Comin’ through! Biscuits, get back here!”

 

He’s cut off as an urchin hurries past us, attempting to catch up to a ragged looking dog down the street as it howls. The orphan – a distortion of color and sound – runs into me, which forces me off-balance.

 

I fall backwards, helpless to collide with a rickety, old cart full of fruit behind me –

 

Then, I feel a warm, broad chest against my back.

 

The heady scent of leather and musk crashes down on me in waves, intoxicating. I meld into him as we both stumble back together, a flurry shrouded in his black coat. He slams into the hard ground with a grunt, his arms wrapped around me to keep me on top of him.

 

“Ah! Apprentice, are you – oh no – ,”

 

“Oh fuck – ,”

 

The cart full of fruit wobbles, apples and oranges start to _splat_ onto the stone street. One bright red apple falls out of the cart and rolls, all the way to his boots. Then the rest of the thousands of fruits follow soon after.

 

“That’s going to hurt – ,”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“Watch out for – ,”

 

“The cart – !”

 

He holds me in an embrace then rolls us so that I’m beneath him, which makes it so the cart and all its fruit hits him. He grunts and hisses above me, but then laughs it off as if the sensation of pain felt pleasant.

 

“Are you alright? Nothing hit you, did it?”

 

“No, but are you – ,”

 

He doesn’t let me finish, instead he pulls me by my elbow up onto my feet then examines each part of my body. I flush when I realize hundreds of eyes are staring – _at us_ – each person watching, whispering, _knowing_ –

 

The heat on my face burns so hot it spreads to my neck, then my ears –

 

“Julian, people are – ,”

 

“You – You have a few scratches, but a simple salve will – ,”

 

His attention is diverted as he notices the crowd around us, then all the scattered fruits and the broken cart. He pouts his lips.

 

“Now, isn’t this a mess. Looks like I’m buying a fruit stand today.”

 

“I can – ,”

 

He searches around in his coat, pats himself down until he pulls one of his gloved hand out of a pocket. Between his fingers is a small cloth bag that jingles as he unties the string around it, the sound of coins echo in the atmosphere.

 

He approaches the baffled fruit merchant, a portly, round man.

 

“Er, do you take Galbradine Dubloons? Or Hjallen Drakr?”

 

“Coin is coin, anything’ll do.”

 

I’m amazed as Julian pours out all different kinds of currency into the merchant’s palms, several of which I didn’t know existed. It’s a small fortune, from all over the world. Those stories he has told me about his life become all the more real, all the more incredible –

 

_He must be telling the truth, then._

_I wonder if I could ever travel the world with him –_

Selfish. I’m thinking _selfish_ thoughts.

 

Dammit. Damn this sweet, handsome, charming, overprotective man –

 

“Well, that takes care of that. Free fruit! Come get your free fruit everyone!”

 

“Julian – ,”

 

I barely let out a breath before a ravenous mob descends on the sea of fruits, then in moments, the area is left vacant. All the fruit is gone. The people are too. I blink a few times, and then look down as a tiny young girl bends down and picks up a pomegranate near my feet.

 

“Can – Can I have this? My – My widdle broder’s so hungry, and mommy doesn’t have any coin – ,”

 

“Yes. Yes. Please, sweetheart, take it. Here.”

 

I snatch some bread from a merchant stall behind me when the merchant isn’t looking, then I hand three loaves to the little girl. She beams as she cradles the food in her arms, then she thanks me before she runs off down the street.

 

“Stealing for little kids? How considerate of you.”

 

“He has plenty of bread. He’ll not notice a few loaves missing.”

 

Julian smiles at me, a thoughtful expression on his pale face.

 

“Good with kids too,” he murmurs, “is there anything about you that isn’t perfect?”

 

“Hah,” I snicker, “you’re funny – ,”

 

He takes me by my hand once more, then leads me off the street onto a side one, so that we’re alone and out of the crowds. He roams his hands all over me, touching, patting, _squeezing_ –

 

“ _Julian – ,”_

“Mhm? Yes? You weren’t hurt, were you? Everything still where it should be? I’m sorry about what happened. I should have mentioned the streets can get raucous.”

 

“It’s fine, just _please_ stop – ,” I inhale as one of his hands squeezes one of my thighs.

 

“Hm? Stop what?” he purrs, then steps closer so he’s pressed against me.

 

His hands move from my thighs, to my waist, then back down to my ass. I clutch to his coat and smile as he pulls me close, his hands all over me, making me dizzy and aroused. I hide my face in the fabric of his coat as I shake my head.

 

“We’re out in public. Does it bother you? Or excite you? Perhaps I could - ,”

 

“No one’s here – ,”

 

“Ah! Wait! I know how to make up for what just happened. This next place is sure to knock your socks off.”

 

“I’m not wearing socks – ,”

 

“It’s a nice little teahouse, just down the way. We can sit there and – and talk. It’s cozy, I think you’ll like it.”

 

“But – But – ,”

 

_I don’t want you to take your hands off me._

He slides his arms up so they’re around my waist, kisses me on my forehead, then spins me around with one arm still latched onto me. With me beside him, we leave the Market into an even deeper part of Vesuvia. He eventually takes his arm off me, then holds my hand.

 

“Ah. Here we are.”

 

“This – This is it – ?”

 

It’s a tall, narrow building with no windows and no lamps outside of it. It doesn’t _look_ very cozy from the outside. I don’t see anyone around, either. The silence is a bit ominous, as is the scent of powerful incense and perfume from inside.

 

His eye is gleaming as he looks down at me, his lips curved into a smile.

 

“Do you trust me, Apprentice?” he asks, his tone dark.

 

I hesitate before I respond. “I – Of course. Of course I do.”

 

“Then come. I promise I’ll protect you with my life, if need be.”

 

“Hopefully the need _won’t_ be – ,”


	18. XVIII

It’s dark inside, candles are lit here and there, incense burns in small clay pots. Faded panels of fresco line the walls, shattered scenes of romance and love depicted on them. I hold onto Julian’s arm tighter as we walk deeper into the teahouse, a little nervous.

 

The door shuts behind us with a _thud,_ and I feel my heart drop in my chest.

 

“I can’t believe it’s still standing.”

 

“Did you come here often?”

 

“Yes. I came here all the time, back in the day. It was an irresistible spot. High ceilings, great ambiance, little booths, tucked away, and then there was the _underground_. You could lounge around for hours, just talking.”

 

“Sounds lovely. Talking. For hours – ,”

 

“And we ah – I’ve been meaning to say, we _do – ,”_

“Need to – ?”

 

We’re both cut off as an old beam above us snaps, then falls and almost crushes me. He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me just in time, so that I’m not squished underneath the rotted wood. I take a deep breath as I look up at him, desperate to just _cling_ to him.

 

“Talk,” he whispers.

 

“Is this the best place?” I ask, then look at the stairwell that leads to the lower, underground level. It doesn’t seem pleasant. “I’m a little – _scared.”_

“Don’t be scared. _I’m_ here.”

 

“That makes me feel _so_ much better.”

 

He chuckles as he reaches down and pulls open a stubborn iron door, then bends over one arm at his waist to lead me in. I can’t help but smile. Even in times like these, in a broken-down place like this, I somehow feel safe and _happy_ with him next to me.

 

“After you, my dear.”

 

“How kind of you.”

 

It’s even darker below, fewer candles are lit, but the scent of incense is thicker. Washed-out fabrics in different patterns hang from the ceiling, which I push aside as I descend down the wooden stairs.

 

When I reach the bottom, there is a slim walkway to follow, with dusty antiques and curios in shelves on either side. I squeeze my way through, with Julian behind me, his hand tightly holding mine until we reach a more spacious room.

 

He peeks around each corner, as if he’s concerned someone might catch us. I’m a bit tense, at first, due to how quiet he is being, but then I find it humorous as he sneaks around as if he’s _actually_ not extremely visible. I let out a small laugh.

 

“Julian, you’re not being subtle.”

 

“Shhh. Do you hear that? There are others here. Lots of others.”

 

From somewhere close, I can hear whispers, dozens of conversations. Lots of people are here, hiding and conversing, shrouded in smoke and darkness. I hold my breath as I creep closer to Julian, to where he stands, so that I can crouch next to him.

 

“I hear lots of people but – but I don’t see any of them.”

 

“Strange. Well. Huh. This is all very unlike the way I remember it.”

 

“What do you think happened?”

 

“The place must have gone under. That’s a shame. They used to serve this smoky tea that I haven’t been able to find since. Ah. Darn. I would have loved to see you try it.”

 

He takes my hand in his once more, then leads me through a corridor. I’m confused as to what has become of this place. All the items seem odd, out of place, even.

 

There’s a wisely smiling metal moon, hammered poorly. Huge carpets of fabric, all hung over plush chairs. Flashing spears are stood up in corners, and an open chest full of small tin objects and feathers sits in tucked under a wardrobe of flashy clothes.

 

“Now it seems to be some kind of an oddities - artifacts - antiques? emporium. How embarrassing. It _is_ still cozy, though, I must admit.”

 

“You think _this_ is cozy?”

 

He turns around to look at me, then walks forward so I’m pinned to a wall. “Very,” he murmurs, one of his hands on my waist, the other on the chipped wall near my head, “it’s dark. Quiet. We’re all _alone.”_

I arch into him as he bends down and kisses my neck. His hand on the wall moves to brush hair behind my ear, then he nibbles on my earlobe. “Julian,” I moan.

 

He arches a brow, an expressive look on his face as he pulls back to stare at me. We keep our eyes locked for a long, long time, until something else seems to take his attention. He smiles devilishly at whatever he’s looking at, then takes his hands off me to walk over to it.

 

“What have we here?”

 

“It looks like a mirror?”

 

“Not the mirror,” he purrs, then reaches over the speckled mirror for a mask draped on it.

 

It’s a Doctor’s mask, one that resembles the same one I remember he wore the first night he came into the Shop, the one he threw into the aqueduct to be lost forever. It’s _exactly_ the same. “Wow,” I sigh, “that – that looks a lot like yours did, huh?”

 

He snatches it instantly, then frowns when he notices the boots near the bottom of the mirror. They’re the same ones he has on - almost identical, even. I’d think they _were_ his if he weren’t _wearing_ his at this moment.

 

“It’s not really a medical mask, is it?” he muses, looking at the mask.

 

“I – I don’t know, is it?” I ask, while I watch him as he examines it closely.

 

With intense focus, he inspects the mask. He turns it in his hands, taps it, peers into its gaping eyes. I stand still and silent, mesmerized by the way his eye shines in the smoke-filled, candlelit darkness. He seems excited.

 

“We used to stuff the beak with herbs. Camphor. Roses. You know, when we had them. I think this one’s just a statement piece.”

 

“Ah. You sound disappointed.”

 

He chuckles, then flips the mask back and forth between his hands.

 

“Not disappointed. Just – ,”

 

“Do you want to put it on?”

 

His jaw drops a bit as he looks at me, then holds up the mask in question. He laughs some more, a rich and deep sound that I could drown in, then sighs wistfully, as he waves the mask back and forth.

 

“If you’re suggesting that I miss the one I tossed to the eels - let me just tell you how much it _pains_ me that you caught me doing that, but you know – ,”

 

“What?”

 

He caresses the mask with his long, gloved fingers. Each stroke to the curve of the beak is thoughtful, if a bit detached. He seems distant, in his own world of mind, as he lets my words soak in the silence.

 

“It doesn’t bother me half as much in black. Maybe I _will_ put it on.”

 

“Please. Do, then.”

 

I offer him a small smile and a nod, then cross my arms over my chest.

 

He has the silliest expression on his face as he turns away from me, towards the mirror, to look at himself as he fastens the mask on his head. He ties the cord in the back, catching some of his auburn curls in the knot.

 

When he spins around with a flair, I _almost_ laugh, but instead I’m left breathless. As dramatic as the mask is, it _fits_ him. The long arc of the beak, the curved tips on the sides, the black and white colors lightly painted on it, all accentuate his pale features beautifully.

 

“Hm. Well. It doesn’t smell like any of the herbs _we_ were using. Ha. How funny. Who would have thought that anyone would ever wear something like this for the aesthetic?”

 

“I have no idea. It’s very eccentric.”

 

His lips curve up underneath the mask. “I may not have contributed to the world of medicine, but I was making waves in the world of fashion, it seems.”

 

“Seems so,” I say, a small hitch in my voice. He just looks _so_ handsome.

 

“How does it look?”

 

“ - perfect, for you.”

 

It looks handsome on him, with a hint of mystery woven into it. I’ve never seen someone wear a mask purely for fashion, but on Julian I don’t mind it at all. I’m drawn to the sharp lines of his jaw, the artful shadows of his mouth and cheeks, since the beak cuts across his face.

 

_I want to –_

_I want to –_

_Kiss him._

 

I want to kiss him so much. I have to resist the urge - the temptation to lift up that mask with my thumbs, stand on my toes, then press my lips to his. I wonder if he would even want that. If he even wants me. If he would want to kiss me. More than he has.

 

“Hm? What’s wrong? _Distracted,_ my dear?”

 

“A – A little.”

 

“Staring at my lips, hm,” he hums, “are you thinking of how you would kiss me?”

 

I let out a short breath. “Maybe.”

 

“You think it’d be difficult? Imagine _two_ of them. God. That’d be awkward.”

 

“Good thing I don’t have one on.”

 

He bites his lower lip as he stifles a laugh, and though barely noticeable, his cheeks turn a faint pink color. His throat moves as he swallows, his gaze momentarily averted from mine. He must - _is he?_ Does he want to – ?

 

I inhale a small breath.

 

Then, I stumble forward, rest my hands on his chest, and kiss him under one of his ears.

 

His humor dies, but his grin lingers as he cradles the back of my head in one of his hands. I lean back and look up at him, flushed with heat. I’m hot all over. Desperate, nervous, _afraid,_ even. I never do know what his smile might mean.

 

“Ah, you’re so cute,” he tells me.

 

“Cute?” I scoff.

 

“I might just _melt_ if I spend any more time with you.”

 

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

 

He steps back until he’s pressed against the mirror, and I move with him, my hands still on his chest. I lift myself on my toes to kiss his neck. A soft kiss here, an insistent kiss there. His skin is so smooth, so warm, I wish I could kiss him all over.

 

His head tilts to the side as he weaves his fingers over my scalp, small, faint touches, but ones that make me shiver nonetheless. I let him control me, move me to where he wants me. Soon my lips are over the swell in his throat, my breath hot between us.

 

“If you’re going to bite - do it along here.”

 

“Julian, do you really – ,”

 

He grips my hair and moves my head, so that my lips are pressed over the thick curls behind his ear, the long muscle that’s there. I brush his hair out of the way, lick his skin, then press a few kisses to the sensitive spot.

 

“I do. Really. I want this.”

 

“Me too.”

 

I kiss his jaw as I brush my nose over his skin, each touch careful, slow, gentle. I’m mindful of where he wants me - how he wants me, as my hands clutch tighter and tighter to his overcoat. I’m almost lifted off the floor, his hands are so tight on my waist.

 

“Please. You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

In my chest, my heart pounds, my pulse throbs. With each second that passes, I feel more and more lightheaded. The dizzying sensation only becomes worse as he wraps one of his arms around my back, pulling me closer to him.

 

With our bodies enfolded together, he uses his other hand at the base of my neck to maneuver my mouth to his. One of his legs slide between mine and presses _hard._ I’m helpless to do much else but grind down on his thigh and let him suffocate me in a deep kiss.

 

I moan into his mouth as I move my hips back and forth, back and forth. With each movement, my skin tingles, and I feel hotter and hotter both inside and out. I think I murmur his name - but I can’t tell, I’m too lost in the taste of him.

 

“I want you so much – ,”

 

“Please, Julian – ,”

 

He breaks the kiss, suddenly, and takes deep breaths. His pupil is blown wide, full of lust and desire. He huffs when he catches his breath, then licks his wet lips and smiles.

 

“Sweet.”

 

“Sweet?”

 

He still has the mask on. It’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking, what he means. Yet the swipe of his tongue, over and over, across his lips, that tells me something. He thinks _I’m_ sweet. That I taste sweet. That I’m _being_ too sweet to him. It’s all too sweet for him.

 

“Too sweet.”

 

“How did I know.”

 

Embarrassment makes me burn even hotter.

 

_Maybe I’m too timid for him._

_Too inexperienced._

His fingers curl under my chin, a fond touch, one that’s accompanied with a compassionate smile. I feel light, lighter than I ever have before. I’m dazed and still a bit tired but _God,_ I want this man. I want to please him more than anything.

 

_Too sweet, huh?_

I sink my teeth into his neck, not too hard, just enough to make him gasp and shudder. His fingers tighten in my hair, at the back of my neck, so I bite his pallid skin harder. He shivers, moans softly in the air, then pushes up his leg between mine.

 

“Mm. _Yes._ That’s more how I like it. I _love_ it. Here.”

 

“Is this what you want, Julian? Hm?”

 

He tugs at his collar and I kiss lower and lower down his neck, scraping my teeth, biting him harder and harder along the connection of his collarbone to the base of his jaw. He groans and writhes, restless, as I keep him against the mirror and bite his neck.

 

I sink my teeth in more and more at the base of his neck, then I knead his sensitive skin between my teeth until he hisses. I release the pressure of the bite and pull back, scared I hurt him, then surprised to see nothing but pure pleasure on his face.

 

He inhales sharply as he lets his eye flutter closed.

 

“If you’re worried about marking me - don’t be.”

 

“Marking – ?”

 

There’s a wet spot on the side of his throat, which shines in the dim candlelight. The color of bright maroon, oval in shape, already fading. It’s incredible to watch. It must be his Curse.

 

“Oh. Don’t take that personally, it’s the Curse. You’ll have to do more than _that_ to leave your mark on muaaaaaahhhh – ,”

 

“Oh? I can do _more.”_

I bite one of his ears, _hard,_ then release it. He moans and trembles, knees weak, as a tiny spot of blood forms where my tooth sank in. I lick the blood off, then bite him again, and again, and _again._ Soon he’s covered in marks, all different shades of blood, all different sizes.

 

“Fuck. _Yes._ That’s it. Don’t be shy. Give me something to remember you by.”

 

“Remember me by?”

 

He huffs out a breath, wraps one arm around my shoulders, then twirls me around to pin me to the mirror _he_ was pinned to. I’m shocked by the sudden dominance. His leg is still between mine, and I’m still desperate - hot and wet, for _him._

“Did I say that?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” I breathe out. I’m conflicted, confused. Like I’ve been struck.

 

_What did he mean?_

_Why did he say it like that?_

I can’t tell. That mask hides too much of his face.

 

_Time to take it off, then._

I reach behind his head, into his soft auburn curls, then undo the knotted cord. The mask slips from his face, falls into my hands. I stare at his bare face - his very _handsome_ face, in awe.

 

“Oh. Is – Is something wrong?”

 

“Is it wrong that I want to see your face?”

 

There was a certain sheen in his eye when he put on the mask. It was cold. Distant.

 

Like this, without the mask, he is vulnerable, he’s _open_ and able to be read like a book. His efforts to hide from me won’t work forever. I know this. He must know this. He’ll have to run pretty far to hide from me.

 

“No. Nothing wrong with that.”

 

“Good.”

 

With one hand in my hair, he wraps his other arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a kiss. It’s easier this way. The mask isn’t in the way. It feels more natural to kiss him like this. He seems more at ease. His lips caress mine, soft, but eager.

 

Deep in my chest, a small warmth blossoms - a heat, that blooms and spreads.

 

“It’s easier without the mask,” he whispers after we part, after he laughs.

 

I smile at him. “I kind of liked it on you, but yes - this is better.”

 

“It looked _strange_ on me. That one _and_ the one I wore back then. And shame on me, letting something so unpleasant come between us.”

 

“It didn’t come between us.”

 

There’s a certain look that crosses his face. I _know_ that look.

 

His grin fades. His arm slips away from around my shoulders, and he removes his leg from between mine. I lean against him, words stuck in my throat, but then a miserable wail tears through the air and frightens us both.

 

“You heard that?” he asks.

 

 _He has to ask?_ I nod, eyes wide as I look around. “Yes. What – What was it?”

 

His gaze frantically searches everywhere, and at the same time, he snatches the mask out of my hands. I blink a few times at him as he eases me back, away from the mirror and off of him. He refastens the mask, ties the cord at the back of his head, then smirks.

 

“Humor me and stay close.”

 

“O – Okay.”

 

With one of his hands around mine, he uses the other to press a leather finger to his lips.

 

Quietly as we can, we inch closer and closer towards the sounds we can hear. The mournful wailing becomes louder, louder, and louder. After I duck under some feather boas and satin capes, then step over some bottles, I’m met with a set of heavy velvet curtains.

 

Julian and I glance at each other. He arches a dark brow, a finger still over his lips.

 

The curtains are parted by a thin beam of reddish light, darkened by smoke and incense. Beyond them - he and I look, until we can see the source of the noise, a person collapsed beside a shredded bed, underneath a direct, tinted spotlight.

 

_An actor?_

_Must be._

_Is he supposed to be – ?_

“Lucio,” he whispers.

 

“He’s _playing_ as Lucio?” I attempt not to laugh.

 

The man is dressed in sheer scarlet robes, with a porcelain half-mask over his face. There are black streaks of kohl down his face, and wet tears on his cheeks. The hair of his blonde wig is messed, and some strands of his natural hair peek out.

 

“Wait up in my room? On _my_ birthday? What do you expect me to do all night in here? Clomp around in my hooves? Beg the busboy for table scraps? If I can’t disgust anyone doing it, what is the point?”

 

“Oh my God.”

 

Beside me, Julian is amazed. His expression is _priceless._

“That’s – That’s fantastic,” he chuckles, “it sounds just like him.”

 

“I can’t believe that’s – ,” I snicker, “ – _that’s_ Count Lucio?”

 

Julian nods.

 

I choke out a laugh.

 

It seems this is some sort of over-dramatic reenactment. The man pretending to be Lucio does not sound flattering, and it’s clear the audience is _loving_ it. The theatre is crowded, all the way to the rafters.

 

_It seems even in death making fun of Lucio is popular in this part of town._

_I can’t imagine what it was like when he was alive._

“Well, I’m glad to see that the arts are flourishing. A renaissance may have begun since I’ve been away. But if this is Lucio on his birthday night, then you don’t suppose this is a show about the murder – ,”

 

“I don’t know – ,”

 

Too much happens at once.

 

The audience laughs, a sandbag drops between us with a powdery _thud,_ and the curtain starts to close. The ankle of Julian’s boot is somehow snagged by a twining rope, which lifts him off the floor and high into the air.

 

I cover my mouth with my hands, anxious to look and see what happened.

 

Julian is suspended upside-down over the Lucio-Actor onstage, and is too stunned to do anything at all other than gawk out at the hundreds of eyes in the audience.

 

_Oh God._

_Oh fuck –_

Then, with a loud laugh, he knocks a knife out of one of his boots. His grunts echo across the theatre walls as he sways back and forth, thrashing to cut the rope around his ankle. He severs it, after some time, then falls, _right_ into the Lucio-Actor’s lap.

 

_Oh my God –_

“Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!”

 

The audience bursts into shrieks of laughter and thunderous applause.

 

Julian stares out at them, the swell in his throat moving, a sheen of sweat on his brow. He then looks to the Lucio-Actor, and I can tell, in that second, that he’s going to –

 

With another bark of laughter, he rises onto his knees, bent over the actor.

 

“Muhuhuhuhu! Hello my poor, poor patient. The clock strikes thirteen for you tonight.”

 

“No! It can’t!”

 

Julian lets out a sinister laugh, pulls back one of his leather gloves, then lets it _snap_ audibly. The actor gasps and leans away, the back of his hand on his forehead as he feigns fear. Both of them look _ridiculous,_ the entire scene is so hilarious, even I start to giggle.

 

“I’ve come to end your suffering. Enjoy that gasp, it will be your last.”

 

“What are you going to do? Smother me with your thighs?”

 

“For the hundredth time, _no.”_

“God be damned! I’ll not let you have my life any other way!”

 

They wrangle each other on the bed, which causes thousands of white feathers to soar into a cloud around them. The audience is in tears, even _I_ am.

 

Out of nowhere, the actor moves back, off the bed, and pulls out a fake sword from behind the headboard. He takes a wide stance and faces Julian, who stands up and takes his own stance.

 

“Give me a real fight, man on man! We’ll see who takes the last gasp.”

 

“If it’s a fight you want it’s a – oh.”

 

A small, meek stagehand emerges from somewhere to present Julian with a fake sword, then disappears out of sight. Julian holds the sword by the hilt, waves it in the air, then points it at the actor with a flamboyant flair.

 

“It’s a uh – it’s a fight you’ll get! En Garde!”

 

“So be it!”

 

Wobble sword-sounds resonate to the rafters, and as the fight escalates, the crowd becomes wilder and wilder. I watch, both bewildered and astonished, as Julian shines on stage like he has been there all his life.

 

“Not bad! I might just give you a chance.”

 

“No need! I will win – !”

 

The sword in the actor’s hand flies in the air, then sticks into the wood of the stage. The Luico-Actor flops onto the bed, with Julian’s boot on his stomach, his silky crimson robes pushed apart. Julian rests the end of his sword under the actor’s chin.

 

“ - to speak your last words. Choose them carefully, Lucio.”

 

“Is it money you want, Doctor? Fine things? We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m very generous, you know, and you I’ve always liked the best! What’s mine is yours!”

 

“This may surprise you, but some of us don’t kill for the money.”

 

Julian presses the sword to the skin of the actor’s neck, a dark grin on his face.

 

“Some of us kill to make up for not doing it sooner.”

 

“No! Doctor! Please – !”

 

With his eye locked onto the actor’s, Julian slides the end of the sword down, down, down, until the man beneath him convulses, and fakes a wet gurgle from his throat. The actor falls limp, a lifeless look in his eyes.

 

His pale skin a faint greenish hue, Julian steps back from the ‘dead-Lucio.’

 

“Oh. Well. That was easier than I thought it would be. Uh. Now I – I - Now what? I can’t just go unpunished. I have to pay for this – ,”

 

“Guards! Hang him! He murdered the Count!”

 

“ – but not like that.”

 

“Capture him! For Vesuvia!”

 

Julian swishes his coat in an arc, leaps off the stage, then dashes out of the doors in the back. I turn as quickly as I can and run back the way I – _we_ – came, knocking over antiques and items. The cacophony of the audience fades and fades, then I’m outside, left in silence.

 

I slam my back against a wall. I breathe in, out. In. Out. In –

 

_I can’t believe people watch that kind of stuff._

_Who knew?_

_Who thought making a joke of the murder of the Count would be so entertaining._

In my throat, I can feel my heart thrumming. Fast, unsteady beats. I can’t _breathe._

_Should I wait?_

_Should I go back in?_

I wonder, and wonder, and wait –

 

_I should find –_

The moment I lean off the wall, Julian shows himself.

 

“Apprentice, there you are. What a trip. I’m still one foot in the meta-realm.”

 

“I can’t _believe_ you did that.”

 

I laugh with him as he stumbles out of an alley, his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess on his head. He looks a little disturbed but also thrilled, a weird mixture that I feel too.

 

“Well, no one seemed to think it was really me. Was the neighborhood always this skeptical? Probably – Wait, so _that_ wasn’t what I had in mind. Let me try this again.”

 

“Try – Try what again?”

 

I’m disordered. Removed from reality after what just happened.

 

_What did just happen – ?_

I blink, once, then twice, as he takes each of my hands in his.

 

He looks me fiercely in the eyes, with his one eye, a melancholy hesitance as he lets out a breath.

 

“Apprentice. I’d like to head over to the Raven for a bite to eat. If you’d be so forgiving as to join me – ? My treat, of course, and after that - a nice walk down to the Docks. How does that sound?”

 

“That sounds lovely.”


	19. XIX

Underneath the stars, the pale moon, we laugh as we both stumble out of the tavern. The door slams shut behind us, leaving us alone out in the chilly night air. Julian takes me by one of my hands and pulls me over to one of the tavern walls, under a small, faintly lit lamp.

 

“You know, I think you’d make a lovely actor, Doctor,” I tease.

 

He presses me against the wall, the smell of ale on his breath. “Would I? Perhaps I should consider fully becoming one. Only if you join me, of course.”

 

“ _I_ have to join you?”

 

“Yes. Who needs all that magic rubbish? You and I can be _stars!”_

He and I fall into a fit of giggles, odd noises, and breathless sighs. He’s so close to me and I’m not sure why, not that I mind but – ever since we sat down to eat he’s had his hands on me. His eye hasn’t left me. He’s been entirely focused on me, and me alone, even when others had come and sat with us to talk with him.

 

That warm, pleasant sensation inside me fades as time passes, as we turn silent. He grabs a handful of my hair at the base of my neck, then traces the skin of my throat with a leather thumb. I hum as he touches me, lightly pulling on my hair.

 

“Your hair is very long,” he murmurs, voice sweet and low.

 

I snicker. “Should I cut it?”

 

“No. I like it. It’s pretty and it – it smells nice.”

 

“That’s a surprise, since I haven’t bathed in a while.”

 

He inhales a deep breath of air, of me, and then he slowly closes the distance between us. He lightly presses his lips to mine and I hesitate, but then kiss him back. It’s unlike any other kiss we’ve had. There’s no passion, no heat, no fervor – he seems scared, guilty, like it’s a sin to kiss me.

 

He moves his lips against mine slowly, carefully, so very gently that I almost don’t feel him. I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, tilting my head to kiss him deeper. He moans into my mouth and parts his lips, devouring me with his tongue.

 

His hands slide down my body, to my waist, where he lifts up my sweater to reveal my naked skin. I latch onto him with my nails as he holds me close, so close, both of us hidden in the faded light of a burnt-out streetlamp.

 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes in my ear, his words shaky.

 

I grab some auburn curls at the back of his head, then make him look me in the eyes. “Why?”

 

“I’m terribly selfish.”

 

“No you’re not. You just think you are.”

 

“I am. I always have been. I just think about what I want.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true.”

 

I kiss him deeply, but he pulls back, shaking his head.

 

“We – We should talk, really. Before I’m more selfish,” he says, then turns around, “come on. The Docks aren’t too far from here.”

 

I stay where I am against the wall for a few moments, the air colder without him here. I touch the wetness on my lips, the taste of him. Then I push myself off the wall and follow behind him, my heart pounding deafeningly loud in my ears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sand is soft beneath my bare feet, cool and littered with seaweed. Waves splash against the rocky shore, the dark sea foaming into white bubbles. The moon is directly above us, pale and round, beautiful. Not too far ahead of me is Julian, a black silhouette under the starry atmosphere.

 

His shoulders are tense. He’s been silent the entire walk here. He hasn’t looked at me, he hasn’t touched me – he’s kept to himself. I almost want to run away because I fear what’s about to happen.

 

_We’ve come so far._

_Maybe too far. Maybe this is too much for him. Maybe I’m too much for him._

_Was I delusional? Has nothing been real to him, like it has to me?_

I want to cry, and he hasn’t even spoken yet. It’s pathetic.

 

He stops at a rotten wood pier, then looks back at me. He offers a gloved hand to help me onto it and I take it, afraid like I never have been before. We walk side by side down the pier, then at the very end we both sit at the edge, with our legs dangling off the dock.

 

I touch the surface of the sea with my toes. His boots are wet, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s just looking off at the distance, at an island shrouded in a haze near the horizon.

 

He inhales a deep breath, parts his lips, but no words come out. The endless, shimmering sea fills the silence. I clasp my hands together and squish them between my thighs, so that I don’t shake, so that I don’t reach out and embrace him like I want to.

 

“The breeze is nice. Lovely for a night of sailing, don’t you think?”

 

“I’ve never been sailing.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Not that I can remember.”

 

He clears his throat, clearly embarrassed. His eye falls downcast as his cheeks turn pink.

 

“I suppose we should – _I_ should – talk now?”

 

“If you want to. You’ve been keeping me in suspense all day.”

 

“I have, haven’t I?” he chuckles, “ah, do forgive me. I guess I was enjoying myself too much to take the plunge. I’ve done some terrifying things in my life but you – you’ve changed everything for me. I’ve never felt this way before, so choked up.”

 

“You know, for what it’s worth,” I sigh, “I had a lot of fun today, too. I don’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”

 

He smiles at me, a torn expression on his face. I have to swallow down the fear that rises in me.

 

“I like it when you smile,” I admit, “and you smiled all day today.”

 

“It must’ve been the company,” he teases, his voice almost a purr.

 

“I’m flattered, then.”

 

“You smiled a lot too, you know.”

 

“Did I?”

 

“Yes. It’s a – a beautiful look on you.”

 

I laugh softly. A warmth blossoms within me, in my chest up to my neck.

 

“What was your favorite part, then? When I destroyed a fortune of fruit? Or perhaps when I accidentally crashed a play?”

 

“Both were hilarious.”

 

“You – You really did have fun?”

 

“I did. Yes. Even if you didn’t plan any of that. I’ve never had the chance to see much of the city, since Asra is afraid something will happen to me. It was nice to explore and meet new people. Everyone in town seems to love you.”

 

“They’re good people. Hardworking, dedicated. But covering for me is putting them in danger. I know they’d take any chance to get back at the Palace. Can’t fault them for that. If anything happened to them because of my mess – well, I’m a disaster waiting to happen, Apprentice. And I don’t want that disaster to happen to you, too.”

 

His words come out all at once, in a rush, and I take some time to process them all.

 

He turns an even brighter pink, neck and cheeks flushed. He skims his boots over the surface of the water, back and forth, while his gloved hands clamp together tightly.

 

I look up at the sky, biting my lip. I shift closer so that our shoulders touch, so that I can feel him, so that I can know this is all real and hasn’t just been a wild dream. He leans closer to me, into my presence, like he can’t resist it. Like he craves it.

 

Our eyes meet. His pupils dilate, wide and dark.

 

Then he looks away from me, at that cloudy island far, far off. He points to it, narrowing his stare.

 

“See that island? It’s called the Lazaret. It’s where the city sent their infected during the height of the plague. A perfect monument to my failures. Always visible from the shore, always reminding the city how much it suffered. Every death, every body burnt in those pits, is another mark against me. And there are so, so many marks. I don’t want to drag this out, Apprentice. This – Whatever it was, whatever it could have been. It has to end. Before it’s too late for you. I’m only going to end up hurting you somehow. I know it.”

 

“I’m not afraid of a little pain, Julian.”

 

He scoffs, a noise of disbelief. He lowers his arm into his lap and looks at me. His coat flows in a salty breeze, a wave of black and crimson around him. Strands of hair cover my face because of the wind, and so he reaches out, and pushes them behind my ear.

 

“You shouldn’t be so cavalier with your own safety.”

 

“I could say the same to you. What you’re doing isn’t healthy.”

 

“I’m only trying to protect you – ,”

 

“I don’t need protection. I’ve been protected since I woke up. I’m tired of it.”

 

“It’s all I can offer you. I’m not a good man, sweetheart. The things I’ve done – well, I did something unforgiveable. I must have. Where else does this pit in my stomach come from? I won’t have you come down this path with me. You deserve better than that.”

 

“That has nothing to do with us. That’s your own guilt.”

 

I let out all the breath I was holding in, then move to straddle his lap. He’s taken aback by the suddenness of it but doesn’t push me off. Both of his leather palms hold him up, pressed to the wood of the pier behind him. I cup his cheeks in my hands, my thumbs under his eyes.

 

“What about me, Julian? Do you want _me?”_

“I – What? Did you – I must have misheard you.”

 

“I asked if you want me.”

 

“Oh. So er – I didn’t mishear you then. That’s a strange question to ask when I’m breaking up with you, isn’t it? Not that it’s really a breakup. We never – we never had anything to start with. Just a – a night or two stolen from time.”

 

He swallows hard, and beneath me, I can feel his body tense.

 

Without a word, I start to undress him. I take off his coat first, then his white undershirt. I throw his clothes onto the pier, then pull my own sweater off. He watches, enraptured, as I pull the tie out of my hair to let it all down. I reach back to undo my breastband, then lean forward to kiss under his ear.

 

“Do you want me?” I whisper. Desperate. Afraid. Vulnerable.

 

“Do I want you. Do I want you? That’s a tough question to answer,” he stammers, “I want you to be safe. I want you to stay out of this whole mess. I want – it doesn’t matter what I want.”

 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Tenacious, aren’t you? It’s one of the things I like about you. No matter what happens, you keep moving forward. You’re like this great bright light, drawing me towards you. I just can’t help myself. If I was a stronger man. If I wasn’t so weak. But I just can’t stay away from you.”

 

His gaze roams over my body, then settles back on my face. He pulls of his gloves leisurely, throws them aside, then grabs my waist roughly. He kisses the sensitive skin of my throat, our bodies pressed together, then licks his way up to my ear.

 

“I want you. I know it’s only been a short time, but I feel like I’ve known you for years. Is it because you put me at ease? That’s hard to do, you know. I want to be around you. I can’t stop thinking about you. Even when you’re not with me. That’s the problem. I’m torn in two. My brain tells me to leave, but my heart keeps pulling me back.”

 

“Which one will you listen to?”

 

He nibbles on my ear and I moan softly, frantic for more.

 

He pushes all my hair to my back, then leans away to look at me fully. He unties my breastband and slips it off my body, then squeezes both of my breasts in his large hands. I arch into him and shudder, overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne and the way he touches me.

 

“If I think about it, I can see the path our story would take. So why – ?”

 

“Why what?”

 

He teases my nipples, pinches and squeezes them, then slides his palms down, down, down. He hooks his fingers into my leggings and pulls, and so I lift myself up a little, just enough so that he can take them off me, along with my smalls.

 

I undo his belt, then undo the ties of his pants. He’s hard in his smalls, his length pressed against the fabric. He shivers and moans as I palm him, my mouth on his neck.

 

“If I walk away from you now, will I stay away? If I drop my guard, will I find myself walking right back to you? That’s what makes me selfish. Because whatever we could have, whatever possibilities – they’ll only lead to ruin. That’s the kind of man I am. There’s no future for us that doesn’t end in pain for you.”

 

“Then, just for tonight – can’t we forget about the future? You’re here. I’m here. We’re together, at this moment. Under the same moon. Don’t you want this? Because – Because I do.”

 

His breaths are heavy, unsteady.

 

“Can I be that selfish?” he asks.

 

“Do you want to be?” I say.

 

He falters, lost in my eyes. “Yes. I do.”

 

I smile. “Good.”

 

I push down his pants and smalls, enough so that his cock is freed. I stroke him a few times, but I’m too eager, too anxious to wait, so I lift myself up and align him at my slick entrance. I throw my head back as I move my hips back and forth, then ease him inside me.

 

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

 

“Hurt? God, this feels so good, Julian. You have no idea.”

 

I’ve never had sex before. Not that I can remember. After the sharp bite of pain fades, though, and all that’s left is him inside me, thick and hot – I’ve never felt more pleasure. It intensifies when I start to move, slow and shaky, unused to all these sensations.

 

He kisses me all over we make love, as our bodies move as one. When I’m adjusted to him inside me, he starts to thrust his hips up. I feel waves of hot, dizzying pleasure. He’s deep within me and I never want him to leave, never want this moment to end.

 

“I’m so selfish. So, so selfish,” he murmurs, one hand in my hair, one on my waist.

 

“Tell me how much you want this, Julian,” I say, my nails clawed into his hairy chest.

 

“I’ve wanted this for too long.”

 

“How long?”

 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

“I think I do.”

 

I smile, and he kisses me, sloppy and wet.

 

He thrusts faster and deeper inside me, and I start to rise to a peak. I feel lightheaded and off somewhere far in space. He slinks a hand down where our bodies are connected, circles a calloused finger over my clit, and then I’m lost. I scream into the night, my voice swallowed by the sea.

 

“Beautiful. Beautiful,” he says, “you’re so beautiful.”

 

“Julian,” I cry. I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want this to end.

 

His hips come to a still as I tighten around him, convulsing and trembling on his cock. He holds me tightly and doesn’t breathe as he hides his head in the crook of my neck, my hands in his curly hair. He lets out a deep moan as he comes inside me, hot spurts of his seed fill my womb.

 

We spend an eternity intertwined, connected as one. Neither us move or breathe.

 

Then he trails his lips up to mine and kisses me. His eye is half-closed, cheeks flushed red. I kiss him back then break away quickly, needing to breathe.

 

“One more,” he begs.

 

“One more,” I lie.

 

We kiss once more. Then again. And again. And again. Each time we linger for longer, a tangle of tongues and lips and soft moans.

 

“That’s the last one – ,”

 

“Mm – ,”

 

Our lips touch. He holds me close to him, so close that I can feel his rapid heartbeat.

 

He sighs as he pulls back, a sadness cast over his dark eye.

 

“Being with you is the first thing I’ve wanted for myself in a long time.”

 

“I – I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

 

The confession hits him hard. His one eye widens, clearly in shock. I nestle against him and savor the fullness of him inside me, content to just stay like this. He kisses my sweaty forehead then lifts me by my waist, and despite it all, I slide off his cock.

 

His seed spills down my thighs, cool in the night air. I don’t bother to wipe it off as I slide on my smalls and leggings. He helps me tie my breastband, and then I put on my sweater as he pulls up his smalls and pants and clasps the buckle. He throws on his shirt, coat, and gloves, then stares inanely at me.

 

“I’ll walk you home,” he says.

 

I brush hair behind my ear, then tie it back up. “We didn’t even get those ingredients for Mazelinka.”

 

“Nor did I buy you shoes. Two more broken promises.”

 

“I’m fine without shoes.”

 

He shakes his head, then carries me, one arm under my legs, one arm under my back. He takes me off the unstable pier, onto the beach, back into town. Neither of us speak; he’s too lost in his mind and I’m too focused on the dull ache between my thighs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When we reach the Shop, he sets me down on my feet and brushes sand off himself. I wrap my arms around myself as I look around, clueless about what I could say to make him stay. To make it so that we could make love again.

 

“Well. Here we are. At your Shop. End of the line.”

 

“Here we are.”

 

I shuffle awkwardly back and forth, heart clenched and eyes burning with tears.

 

“When I came to Vesuvia,” he mutters, “I was seeking answers. Finding you – that was a rare treat.”

 

“And a treat is all I will be,” I mumble.

 

His hand hovers over me, unsure if he can touch me. His lips part, but no words come out. He just makes a hurt expression then wipes it away. He straightens his posture and steps back but doesn’t turn around. The sound of his boots on the stone echo in the empty alleyways around us, somehow, already distant.

 

I look at him.

 

_What is he waiting for?_

He rushes forward and presses a kiss to each of my cheeks, then holds my chin in his gloved hand.

 

“Thank you, my dear. The time we spent together, however brief, it mattered to me. I won’t forget it.”

 

“Neither will I.”

 

He turns away from me instantly, like if he stays longer, he won’t be able to leave. I watch him as he disappears into the fog over the streets, like a dream, one I’ll forget when the sun rises. I stand there in silence for a long, long time before I enter the Shop.

 

I close the door behind me softly. It smells like cinnamon and apples. Steam billows down from upstairs, where I can hear Asra moving around. All the lanterns are lit, casting a warm light that flickers in the wind that seeps in through windows.

 

Soft footsteps patter down the stairs. Then I see Asra’s fluffy, white hair. He smiles cheerfully at me when he sees me.

 

“Back from your jaunt at the Palace? Welcome home, Apprentice.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

I stand there, still. He furrows his brows at me.

 

“Wait, I recognize that look,” he says, concerned, “what happened?”

 

I inhale a deep breath. Uncertain if I should tell Asra. “Julian left me.”

 

“He did. So you two were – ?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Oh. Want to come upstairs and talk about it? I made that tea you like. You look like you could use it.”

 

“I could.”

 

I follow him upstairs, into the small loft where we both sleep. There’s one bed, which we both sit down on, soft blankets and lush pillows around us. He reaches for the teapot as I think, too much.

 

_Does Julian have someone to talk to? Where will he go? Will Mazelinka be there for him? Portia? What if he insists on being alone? What will happen to him? What if – what if he hurts himself?_

Faust slithers around my arm as I take the cup of tea in my hand.

 

“Hello, Faust,” I smile.

 

“So,” Asra sighs, “what happened?”

 

He sips on his own cup of tea as he settles beside me on the bed.

 

I tell him all that happened. From when I attempted to come back here for some herbs, ran into Julian, all the way to when he kissed me goodbye outside the Shop. I leave out the fact that we made love on the pier, since I don’t truly believe that happened myself.

 

He leans back against the pillows when I’m quiet, looking up at the ceiling. He’s dressed in his casual attire, a shirt that’s open in the front and loose trousers. He seems sleepy, exhausted.

 

“That sounds like Ilya. He took an entire day to end it? Were you two even really together?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Oh Ilya,” he exhales, “the only thing he loves more than drama is his own suffering. And he’s determined to chase both.”

 

“What should I do, then?” I ask.

 

“Hm. What do you want to do? That look in your eyes tells me you already know. You want to go after him, right? I can’t stop you. I just – want you to be careful. Who knows? Maybe you can shake him from his ouroboros of self-flagellation. Unlikely, but stranger things have happened. Just don’t hurt yourself in the process. Oh! that reminds me. Do you still have the deck I left you?”

 

“I do.”

 

I take out the cards from a secluded pocket of magic, one I cast so it would follow me around. I pull them out of the dream-realm, then hand them to Asra. They nearly leap out of my palm, excited to see their creator.

 

He waves one hand over them and they disappear. He looks relieved.

 

“You – You’re alright, right?”

 

“I could use a bath, but otherwise, I guess I’m fine.”

 

“Nothing strange happened with the deck?”

 

“Not that I know of.”

 

I eye him warily. He shakes his head, making his hair fall into his lavender eyes.

 

“You’re home,” he breathes, quietly, “I can make some dinner while you bathe?”

 

“I – Uh, already ate,” I tell him, “but if you’d run the bath for me, that’d be lovely.”

 

“Salts? Or no salts?”

 

“Salts, of course.”

 

He laughs, sweet and warm, then stands up to fill the bath for me. I lay down on the bed as I watch him, my vision blurry and dark around the edges. I close my eyes, just for a moment, as the sound of rushing water fills the air.


	20. XX

Terrible dreams haunt me as I sleep. I’m half-awake when I turn to lay on my side, when I see that Asra has fallen asleep beside me in the bed. He hasn’t left, not yet. I smile and take this rare chance to touch his soft white curls, trace his face, feel his warm skin.

 

“Thank you, Asra,” I whisper. He’s done more for me than I could ever say aloud. I couldn’t repay him even if I sacrificed my life for him. But Julian still looms over me. I _need_ to do this.

 

A small hint of shame blooms within me as I roll off the comfortable bed. I’m safe here, secure and loved. What is it about Julian that makes me want to chase him? What is it about him that has made it so I can’t be content without him? I wonder, _question_ my own sanity as I find some clean clothes.

 

A small wave of my hand and a lamp is lit.

 

I look into a cracked mirror at my reflection once I’m not naked. A simple, black dress made of lace and chiffon and velvet. It has sleeves that run down my arms. A skirt that moves as I do. It covers most and me and hides my pale skin but, even so, what I felt on the pier with Julian sticks to me.

 

His _touch_ sticks me. His kisses are still hot. His breath is still frantic. It’s like I’m still there, with him.

 

_No. No. He broke up with me. Don’t fall into delusion now._

I let out a deep breath. I need a calm mind for this.

 

_I need to move on. Forget him._

_But can I?_

I convince myself that I can, despite my doubts.

 

I slip black flats on my feet then walk downstairs. It’s quiet. So quiet without Julian’s presence. I feel like a part of me isn’t here.

 

A few crimson-colored lamps liven up when I pass by. I find a cloth and dust off the shelves, then the tables, then some ancient and bizarre trinkets. I’m almost idle in my movements. Slow. A mist blinds me but I can’t blink it off, make it disappear.

 

A sudden loud knock shakes me out of the lethargic state. I stiffen, but then set down the items in my hands and approach the door. I open it carefully, a crack, but it’s shoved open and I’m pushed back a few feet into a bookshelf.

 

“Ah! Apprentice! Sorry, I should have asked if you were home. It’s me, Portia, if you don’t remember. We _really_ need to talk.”

 

“Please keep quiet. As – Master is asleep upstairs.”

 

“Oh. _Sorry._ I’m also sorry to come so early, I just wanted to catch you before you left. But ah – _oh! –_ so this is what the inside of your Shop looks like? Look at this place! Incredible.”

 

“I wouldn’t touch anything.”

 

She hurries over to a transparent counter, where a crystal ball rests on top. Her hands hover just over it, mystified and afraid. Her auburn curls bounce with her as she leaps from it, and then she smooths her palms down her white apron and dress.

 

Her attention shifts to a shelf stocked with herbs and medicines. She examines them a bit, and I wait in patience until I realize she has become distracted.

 

“Portia? You said we needed to talk?”

 

“Oh! Sorry. Again. You’re right. We _do_ need to talk. Milady wanted me to come check up on you. Um. She wanted to see how you were doing in the investigation. You know, with Ily – Julian.”

 

The fascinated smile on her face fades in an instant. I swallow hard, nervous.

 

“I hate to ask this,” I say quietly, “but do you _want_ me to catch him?”

 

She blinks in confusion. “Me? Why would that matter?”

 

“He’s your brother. And if Nadia catches him, she’ll hang him. Are you really fine with that?”

 

“I – Ah. No. Are you?”

 

“No.”

 

Even after all that has happened between Julian and I, these emotions I have for him have not waned. Whatever I feel doesn’t matter to him but I still _care_ for him. If I had to watch him die, if I knew it was _my_ fault – I don’t know if I could live with myself.

 

Tension falls as fast as it had risen. She lets out a relieved breath and her smile returns. The freckles on her cheeks are colored pink with a blush.

 

“Great! So we’re partners then.”

 

“Partners?”

 

“Well, we both want the same thing. Right? You don’t want my brother to die. I don’t want my brother to die. Now we just have to make sure my brother doesn’t want my brother to die. We need to get him out of the city. In Vesuvia, he isn’t safe. The Guards _will_ catch him eventually.”

 

“I doubt he will let me help him. But if you are there, maybe he’ll listen.”

 

“He likes you, though!”

 

“He – He may have, before. But not anymore.”

 

What I said lingers in the air, heavy and thick. I can taste the bitterness in my throat.

 

Her expression softens. “What makes you think that?”

 

I look off to the side, at a salamander as he scurries across the wood floor. “I just know.”

 

“You make it sound like he told you.”

 

“Well. He did. Last night – ,”

 

I cut myself off. I _can’t._ I can’t admit what happened. Not to his sister, not to myself.

 

“Last night?” she prods.

 

“I’ll just say he pushed me away. He told me he needed to be alone. That he needed to do this – whatever it is – alone,” I confess. I don’t want to tell her the details of it all.

 

“That sounds like Ilya. Let me guess, he said it was to keep you safe?”

 

“In a way.”

 

“He used to do that to me all the time when we were little. He never let me handle anything. He always shouldered someone else’s burdens. Then he’d lament how heavy the load is. I mean, it’s nice to hear he’s still my same brother. And now that I’m older, maybe I can finally help carry that burden.”

 

“If he’d let you.”

 

Her eyebrows lift. “Ilya needs people he can rely on. From what I know, and have heard, it sounds like he needs _you._ So we should find him. Together.”

 

I meet her intense stare. “Where do we find him? Do you know?”

 

“Hm. I have a suspicion. I _think_ I know. Come on, follow me.”

 

“I think _I_ know what your idea is.”

 

We smile at each other before she turns and skips out of the Shop. A cold wind drifts in from outside. I take a dark coat from where it lays over a chair, then put it on. With a dazed flick of my wrist, all the lamps are snuffed out.

 

I hesitate just before I close the door. I listen, closely, for Asra’s breaths. I don’t hear him. Nor do I sense his presence. The sensation of him has dissipated, a small void left behind. He has left, like he usually does, and so I make sure to lock the door once I close it behind me.


	21. XXI

The smell of ale and mead and wine is thick in the air. The taste is almost potent.

 

I shut the door behind us once Portia is inside the tavern. It’s mostly vacant inside, except for the bartender and a few dedicated patrons. I think of when I barely knew Julian, that _one_ haze of a night, as I pass tables and chairs and lit lamps.

 

Happy little Portia turns to me with a smile on her face. Her eyes are hopeful, cheeks pink. She’s so excited and sure of herself that her hands are clutched into her dress and apron. Little auburn strands stick to her face due to sweat.

 

“Trust me. I know my brother. He’d definitely be at a place called the _Rowdy Raven._ A tavern. It’s a second home to him.”

 

“Believe me, I know too.”

 

She doesn’t question me further about it. She searches around inside, and I do too. It isn’t until I notice a dark crimson head of curls that I stiffen and choke up. I _know_ that’s him. I’d know that hair anywhere. He’s alone in a corner, hidden in the dark, slumped over the table.

 

His hair is tousled and messed. Tankards are scattered near him. Liquid stains the wood of the table.

 

I pull Portia over to my side and direct her attention to Julian.

 

“Oh boy,” she exhales, “there he is. Listen, when he gets like this, what he really needs is a good boot to the ass. You want to deliver it, or should I?”

 

The tension of our last encounter is still between us. “You do it. You’re his sister.”

 

She rushes over to the table in the corner and stands tall over Julian. With her hands on her hips, she scowls down at him. Carefully, I stand close but not _too_ close.

 

“ _Ilya!_ What do you think you’re doing?!”

 

“P – _Pasha?”_

Julian almost leaps out of his seat, scared to death. The stein in his hand topples over and spills all over the table. He lifts his head slowly, blinks even slower, then all the color drains from his face when he notices me close to him.

 

“And ah – Apprentice? How did the two of you – ? Where did you come from? How’d you find me?”

 

“It was easy, we just followed the sounds of self-loathing and day drinking. What are _you_ doing here?! Do you want to be caught?”

 

“Caught? Here? Pfft. Nonsense. The bird would fly in and cause a racket. And _if_ I did get caught, well. I’d deserve it. It’s not safe for either of you to be near me. You – You’d better go, before you get tangled in my mess. Especially _you.”_

His eye is on me.

 

“Sorry, Julian. You may not care for me, but I still care about you,” I tell him.

 

Portia nods stubbornly. “We aren’t going anywhere without you! You’re my brother. I’m already tangled in your mess! Do you have some kind of death wish, Ilya? _Do_ you?!”

 

Julian jumps up when Portia starts to cry, then sob. “Pasha. Oh. Oh no. Don’t cry, don’t – ,”

 

“I’ll cry if I want to! This is your fault, you know!”

 

“Pasha, I – I – ,”

 

She breaks out into louder wails before she wipes her cheeks and eyes. She turns from him with a sniffle. Her shoulders tremble. I stare at Julian with a death-look and he flushes in shame.

 

“You’d better hold me back, Apprentice! Before I f – fight him!”

 

“Pasha. Oh. Pasha. I’m sorry, I’m – I’ve done nothing but cause you both trouble! This is what happens. Where I go, misery follows.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I whisper. Just so he can hear me. His eye widens.

 

Portia spins around and pushes him back down into the seat. “That doesn’t mean you can just give up! You’ll die, Ilya! This is _serious.”_

“Maybe I deserve to die,” Julian mutters as he looks down at the spilt ale.

 

I bite my lower lip as I take him in. He’s coated in alcohol, all kinds. His clothes are stained with sorrow and shame and self-hatred and I think back to what Asra told me. The idea that Julian truly _does_ wish to be trouble, a source of pain and death. If it’s unavoidable.

 

“Barth. Barth! I need another stein over here, please. A Salty Bitters,” he shouts.

 

“Do _not_ serve him another drink, Barth!” I shout. The bartender whistles innocently as he moves back behind the counter with a tankard in his hand.

 

Julian eyes me. I meet his fierce stare.

 

It isn’t more drinks he needs. It’s _comfort._ He needs to recover from whatever curse he’s inflicted on himself, so he can focus. He has a sadness in his eye and he won’t see clearly until he isn’t clouded with self-imposed blame.

 

“Julian. I know you may not believe me, but I have to say it,” I exhale. This is _difficult._ “I – I really do want to help you. I want to ah – _not_ see you die. I – I care about you.”

 

“Even after I hurt you? Even after what I _did_ last night?” he scoffs, “don’t be foolish. Only a masochist would want to be around me. All I do is inflict pain on others.”

 

“I’ve told you once before, and I’ll tell you once more: I _like_ a little pain. Maybe a lot of pain. How will you ever find out if you _die,_ hm?” I say all in one breath.

 

He stares up at me, amazed and shocked. “God. I – I do not deserve you. I’m not good for anyone. A moment of happiness with you, it’s not worth all the pain and tears that inevitably follow.”

 

Portia cuts into our endless debate. “Ilya. Listen. I know you’re used to doing everything alone, that hasn’t changed since we were kids. But we’re here to help now, and we’re not leaving until you’re safe. Right? _Right?”_

“Yes. Exactly,” I concur.

 

“Though, really, we should be getting you out of the city, not standing around here talking.”

 

“I can’t leave, Pasha. Not until I know for sure what I’ve done.”

 

“Fine. Then you have to let us help you. We’re not going to let you do this alone.”

 

“I’m inclined to side with your sister,” I add in.

 

Julian looks back and forth between us, disbelief in his expression. His brows furrow as he lets silence fall around us. He doesn’t move or speak for a while.

 

“Well. I can’t tell either of you what to do. If you want to be here, I can’t really stop you.”

 

“Fantastic! I’ll take it. So, if we can’t get Julian out of the city yet, what’s the next step?”

 

Both of them look at me and I feel pressured. I cross my arms over my chest as I think of a plan. I notice, barely, that Julian admires my dress and the soft swell of my breasts that shows. He still wants me even if he denies himself, and I still want him. Damn our idiotic desires.

 

“I think,” I say, after a bit, “we should start at the scene of the crime. It might help recover some of Julian’s memory.”

 

“It won’t be a problem for us,” Portia claims, “but how will Ilya get into the Palace undetected? If someone sees him it’s all over.”

 

“Hm. What if they don’t see _him?”_

“What do you mean?”

 

“There’s a spell I know. It can disguise him,” I tell them.

 

“What?” Julian chuckles, “you mean I’d become _another_ person? But who would I become?”

 

The notion comes to me before I want it to. I see flashes of fluffy white hair, loose clothes, tan skin. It isn’t my _best_ idea and I don’t even know if Julian will be fine with it. It’s all I have.

 

“I think I know,” I murmur, “let’s find an alley. It needs to be private.”

 

Portia walks ahead as I lift Julian off his ass. I let him lean on me until he has his balance. He waves to the bartender before we leave, then kicks the door shut behind us. We follow Portia into a secluded alley that smells of rot and mold.

 

I’ve never done this, so I’m anxious. I _attempt_ not to let it show.

 

With Julian in front of me, I bend down and scoop up some dust from the stone street. I enchant it with the spell then scatter it on him. He retracts from the cloud, but it sticks to his skin. A brilliant flash of light shines, a ripple of energy, and then it fades, and I look up to see Asra.

 

“Oh! Who’s that?” Portia whistles, “he’s handsome!”

 

“What? What do I look like?” Julian sputters. He rushes over to a small puddle in the street.

 

He drops to his knees and stares at his reflection. I clutch my hands at my sides, scared of what his reaction will be. He touches his skin, his clothes, his hair, and then he turns his head to meet my eyes. A hint of amazement blazes across his face.

 

“Oh my _God._ I’m definitely too drunk for this.”

 

“I can already tell this will turn out _so_ well.”

 

He smiles, and I smile too. For a moment, it feels like we’re fine. It feels normal. The mischievous and playful side of him has returned. A part of him that I’ve fallen for.


	22. XXII

The sun dives beneath the horizon and the relentless heat fades with it. The sky is painted with dark sapphire and hues of violet, little stars shine in the depths of the void-like colors. The moon illuminates the surface of the water beneath us as we cross an arch, which leads to the entrance of the Palace.

 

“I am the _Master_ of er – uh – ah – _magic._ I am _Assssssraaaaa,_ the _magician!”_

“Julian, that is not how Asra talks. At _all.”_

He shoots an offended look at me. “Oh, come on. I was _close.”_

“No. You weren’t,” I chuckle.

 

The tone of my voice elicits a snicker out of Portia.

 

She wipes sweat from her brow and smiles at me, a sheepish expression on her freckled face. Her hair is tied up more so than it was before, apron and dress stained with wet spots from the moisture on her skin. Her cerulean eyes focus on Julian when he lets out a reflective huff.

 

“How do you suppose he’d be feeling in this moment? Like a lamb, entering the den of wolves? Or maybe a wolf, entering the den of – vipers? Hm. Vipers he wouldn’t mind, he and Faust would fit right in.”

 

“Julian, can you _slow down_ a bit? Your sister and I are about to drown in sweat.”

 

He halts his quick pace and turns to stare at us. The marble stone of the arch screeches in his abruptness. His – Asra’s – face twists in hesitation, a hint of pain.

 

“Faust. That’s the snake’s name, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes. It is.”

 

He exhales deeply as he rubs at his temples, his Asra-façade shattered by his distinctive countenance. His brows furrow, eyes narrow as he thinks on whatever is on his mind. I stand next to him and rest my hand on his shoulder, over the soft material of his scarf and shirt.

 

“I – I remember that snake, she nearly squeezed the life out of me once.”

 

“I remember that too. _I_ was there.”

 

“No. No. Before that, far before that. _Years_ before.”

 

“Oh.”

 

I take my hand off him as he turns and walks forward, fluffy-white head down.

 

_He’s been like this since we left the tavern. What’s his problem?_

He continues to keep a distance between us, but more often than not he offers me a curious squint as if he can’t believe I – exist? He’s definitely not himself. I’m not sure if it’s the spell on him or all the alcohol in his veins, or a snarl he has in that wild mind of his.

 

He clears his throat, which eases some of the tension. “So, it’s safe to say he would be surprised. When he’s surprised, is he more of a _this?”_ he makes a wary, overdramatic scowl. “Or more like _this?”_ his eyes widen, and the lines in his face soften.

 

I consider both for a moment. “More like the second one.”

 

Portia bounces up beside me. “Hey Ilya, I know this is gonna be a challenge but try not to talk too much, okay?”

 

“Oh, no. Naturally not. Asra doesn’t talk much. Believe me, it’s hard to maintain such an aura of mystery once you open your mouth.”

 

“Hm. Maybe he was just quiet around you? You’ve got a real bad habit of doing the talking for everyone, Ilyushka.”

 

_Ilyushka? That’s new._

Both of them banter until we reach the threshold, where two massive doors stand tall in front of us.

 

Portia takes in a deep breath before she pushes them open hard, her shoulders stiff and set firm. We all rush inside as the doors _slam_ shut behind us. The sound of stone on stone echoes in the halls.

 

Lit lanterns sway back and forth above, melted down to the wick.

 

It’s quiet. _Too_ quiet. I latch onto Julian – Asra’s – arm and hold on.

 

“This is weird. Where is everybody?”

 

“On break?”

 

Each hall is deserted, abandoned and covered in dust. Julian scowls at the eerie silence as he flexes the muscles of his arm, then wrenches me closer to him. He’s as nervous as I am.

 

“So uh – where can I take you first, Oh Great Magicians?”

 

“The bedroom, of course. Bring us to the room where the dark deed was done.”

 

“Jul – _Asra.”_

“What? You don’t like the _dark deed?_ What about the _shady feat?_ The _murky endeavor?”_

“God. Portia, please take us there before he blows his own cover.”

 

“I would _never.”_

It isn’t until we wander into several halls that we reach the staircase to Lucio’s annex. The pure-white hounds that are normally here are nowhere to be seen. I shiver as I remember the encounter I had with them, pleased I don’t have to experience _that_ another time.

 

I keep close to Julian as we ascend the stairs. He remains alert and protective as we enter the main hall.

 

Odd sounds and voices echo in the distance, a faint resonance.

 

“Lucio’s room is down here,” Portia tells us.

 

Julian swallows a visible lump in his throat. “Did you say that no one ever comes to these rooms anymore?”

 

“Nope. Never, in the years I’ve been here – nobody. If they don’t have to, and when they do – let’s just say there are a lot of stories floating around downstairs. People have heard things. Seen things.”

 

“How _comforting.”_

I remain silent as we reach the door to Lucio’s room. An ethereal moan floats in the rafters and Julian twines himself around me in fear, or perhaps to defend me. He recoils as he looks up, all over, at the dirt-and-powder coated beams.

 

The door is unlocked. A small push and it creaks open.

 

A crash makes the entire room tremble. I blink at the residue that burns my eyes. Within moments I can see servants on the floor, wet cloths in their hands to scrub and clean. Grime and filth have been wiped off, layers of ashes and dead embers.

 

An elaborate chandelier is suspended above, candles in it lit with small flames. The darkness is pierced to reveal the hardwood floor, the walls with chipped paint, the soft seats in corners, and an ornate bed draped in crimson colors.

 

The Countess is near the bed. Her scarlet eyes are wide, jaw dropped as she looks at the three of us.

 

A flash of recollection briefly shows on her dark complexion as she stares at Julian – _Asra._ She flips some of her beautiful, mauve hair to her back as she shuts her eyes and bows her head. The jewels she wears shimmer, and her exquisite dress flows around her.

 

“Portia, there you are. Hello, Apprentice. At last, we are tending to the ruin of this room. There have been a number of curious accidents. Who is this?”

 

“I am the _majulian_ – magician, Asra. Here to help my apprentice help you, Countess.”

 

_Oh, Julian. That was awful._

I wince, afraid of what is about to happen. A cold chill rushes down my spine as Nadia moves closer, closer, _closer_ to Julian. He visibly stiffens, eyes just a little too wide.

 

“Asra, at last. We meet.”

 

“Ah. Yes. I’d have offered my help earlier you see, but I was on a – uh – quest to open my third ear.”

 

I choke on air.

 

_What?_

Nadia seems to believe him, a smile on her lips. “No. No. I simply thought we might have met before, but you are indeed a stranger to me. Or my eyes deceive me, it is terribly dim. Perhaps if that lamp was lit?”

 

She directs our attention to a sconce on the wall, derelict and coated in cobwebs.

 

_That’s too high to light manually._

_Does she mean for him to use – ? Oh, fuck._

Julian finds my anxious eyes the same time I find his. His lip quivers as he mumbles incoherent words, at a loss for what to do. I bite the inside of my cheek as my hands twitch.

 

“Uh. Lamp? What – ,”

 

“ _That_ lamp.”

 

I act before I think, desperate to save this before it falls apart. An arc of heat shoots from my palm and flares in the candelabrum. He catches on just in time, and waves his arm in the air in a flourish. The flames burst and crackle, then small sparks land on the Count’s portrait on the wall.

 

_Oh fuck._

Nadia inhales sharply. “Oh my!”

 

“Don’t worry, Countess!” Portia shouts, just before she snatches a ladder from a corner. She hurries over to the lit portrait and attempts to douse the blaze. “It’s fine Milady. I got it!”

 

The hot embers are beaten with a small cloth, over and over. There’s an odd, dark silhouette that forms in the dustiest nook of the room. White smoke that swirls into a solid form. I reach out to Julian beside me and clutch to his arm.

 

He turns his head, but it’s too late. A flash of movement blinds me, and the ladder is rammed.

 

Nadia lurches to catch Portia in her outstretched arms. “My Heavens, Portia!”

 

Julian – Asra – who was about to catch Portia, calmly settles back into his spot beside me. “Ahem. So quick! That was a feat of amazing foresight, Countess. Almost as if you saw the future. You may have abilities. In uh – in _magic.”_

After Portia is set on the floor, Nadia turns to arch a brow at Julian. “I wonder. Perhaps when I am through here, I shall join you both investigating.”

 

“In – In the Library!” Portia exclaims as she smacks her hands. Her pale cheeks are flushed scarlet. “Investigating in the Library! That’s uh – yes. Where they need to be.”

 

“Ah. Yes. A perfect place to start. I believe you keep the keys?”

 

“I uh – yes. I – _ahem._ Follow me!”

 

Julian takes my hand in his as we’re led out of the crowded room. He squeezes firmly and doesn’t release me until the door is closed behind us. His Asra-façade is shattered as a wide smirk curves his lips, all too much like him to be anyone else.

 

He leans down to whisper in my ear. “That was fun.”

 

I scowl. “That was _close._ I’m shocked the Countess did not call you out immediately.”

 

“Oh, come on. That was a _perfect_ Asra impression.”

 

“The _majulian?_ Really?”

 

He scoffs. “Okay, _that_ was a bit of a stumble. But otherwise I did fine, yes?”

 

I stare at the derelict walls of the hall as a blush creeps over my cheeks. “Yes. You did.”

 

He crushes the bones of my hand in satisfaction, the devilish leer softened into a satisfied smile. Our hands remained laces as we rush down the halls, towards a massive door that Portia unlocks with the many keys she possesses.

 

The door locks itself behind us after we enter. I let out a tired breath, exhausted and drained.

 

Little tendrils of the spell trickle away.

 

The illusion over Julian slips off. He shakes himself out, tousles his hair and flutters his coat.

 

“Well. That could have gone worse. I may not know magic, but there’s definitely something going on here. Something beyond my knowledge. Luckily for us, we’re at the Library. Let’s see what we can learn.”

 

“I’ll look over here.”

 

I amble over to a tall bookshelf stuffed with tomes, scrolls, and books. I trace my hand over the spines as I think on what just occurred – the creature – or whatever it was. That wasn’t normal. It had an evil aura around it, a hint of familiarity.

 

_But where would I have known it from?_

He’s on the other side of the room, eye focused on the rows of books. His leather-clad hands dance over each one. His focus is so intense that I’m drawn to shadow his movements. He’s lost in whatever is on his mind, not even aware of me as he yanks hardcovers out of the shelves and into his arms.

 

“All these books,” he mutters, “and I kept going back to the same old – just around that corner. I had a desk. It’s coming back to me. It’s close, at the back of my mind. I can just taste it.”

 

His eye centers on me. He flushes, a pink color tints his pale skin. He must notice the unease in my posture, the constricted words in my throat. “Julian, I – ,”

 

“You’re mad at me?”

 

“I’m not mad at you.”

 

He exhales, then looks down at the marble floor. “You’re not, huh? You know, dear. They do say there’s such a thing as being too forgiving.”

 

I cross my arms over my chest. “You’d rather I punish you. I know. But I don’t want to. I can see that you’ve been punishing yourself enough.”

 

He’s silent. Eye wide, jaw dropped a bit.

 

He hurries past me, towards a desk. His desk. I remember it from before. It’s mostly the same as when I had left it before. Cluttered. Chaotic. Stacked with parchment and vellum and inky stains. But it’s been touched – bothered – someone has sifted over it.

 

“There it is. That’s my desk.”

 

“Julian, can we talk?”

 

“Is this really the time?”

 

“With how you run off, I don’t see a better chance.”

 

He waves a dismissive hand at me, then pours all his attention to his desk. Drawers are thrown out. Items are knocked off. Records and sketches are torn to pieces. He wrecks it entirely, all that jumbled order. As if none of it matters.

 

I capture one of the pieces of vellum, a sketch of a beetle. Familiar, somehow.

 

_Red._

_So much red. Not blood, no. A disease. An illness. Incurable. A death-sentence._

_It runs hot in my blood, like liquid fire. It burns. It burns. Please, someone, make it stop – !_

I crumple the vellum into a tiny ball. Then I throw it onto the floor and stomp on it.

 

He’s still. Gaze zoned in on an oily metal key that trembles with his arm.

 

There’s a crimson stone in the eye. Familiar, too. This is all a little too familiar.

 

_What have we fallen into?_

He turns to me suddenly, a sheen of wetness in his eye. “Ah- _Ha!_ This is it. This is what was calling to me. Don’t ask me how I know, but I _know._ It’s not any of these old scrawlings. It’s this.”

 

I shove down the nausea I feel. “A key?”

 

He throws the key in the air, then hides it in an inner coat pocket with a contented hint of a smile. The air bursts out of me when he closes the distance between us and pins me to a bookshelf. Several hefty tomes sprawl out on the floor.

 

His hands grasp my shoulders. “I’m one step closer. If it wasn’t for you I’d still be two behind.”

 

I lick my lips as I squirm, the air warm where our breaths touch. “Happy to help.”

 

The corner of his mouth lifts as he wrenches me into his arms, then raises me in an embrace. I brace my hands on his shoulders, eyes locked on his one. I brush some loose auburn curls behind his ear. He leans into the touch, his cheeks and neck darkened with a flush.

 

“Julian – ,”

 

“I – ,”

 

There’s a dissonant screech at a window. He cradles me in his arms as he pushes me over to a dark corner. His head is turned, stare on the moonlit-illuminated glass. His throat contracts as he swallows. I hold my breath and wait – silent – too conscious of his body pressed into mine.

 

He looks down at me, embarrassment on his features. “Just a bird. Sorry.”

 

I rest my hands on his jacket. “Doctor instincts never die, I suppose?”

 

“I – I want to protect you. Keep you safe. It’s why I – I left you.”

 

“How can you protect me if you’re not with me, Julian?”

 

His eye widens. His dilated pupil focuses on the exposed swell of my chest. I’m forced to let out all the air I held in and it causes us to squish closer. He doesn’t move back, and I don’t tell him to. Instead he bites his lip and tilts his auburn head, so his eyes aren’t on me.

 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, voice a bit cracked. “About everything. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, rejecting you like I did. Temporary madness. It perhaps goes without saying that I find you – _very_ attractive. Whether I’m destined to hang or not – and by some miracle, you see something attractive in me, too. But to what end? I pace. I drink. I tear my hair out. And I still don’t know what to do. Tell me: what do you want me to do?”

 

Electricity sparks over my nerves when he stares back at me. There’s an undeniable passion in his eye, a carnal need that I understand all too well. “Kiss me. You fool.”

 

He shudders.

 

All that distance – all that tension between us – it cracks within a second.

 

“If you insist.”

 

“I do.”

 

He captures my lips with his instantly, a ravenous desire in the way he moves. A leather-clad hand slides to the nape of my neck to wrench me deeper into the kiss. I moan and he makes a deep rumbly noise, a sound that I want to hear over and over and over.

 

He shoves me into the wall, desperation evident in his movements. His other arm snakes around me and rests at the small of my back. I’m shifted off-balance. I have to clutch to the fabric of his coat to keep myself up, the pleasure and excitement too much for my mind.

 

The beat of his heart is rapid. His muscles are stiff. He’s so taut it seems like he’ll break.

 

I lift one hand to his face. I stroke my thumb back and forth, a soft caress to soothe him.

 

He breaks the kiss and inhales a small breath.

 

“Don’t speak.”

 

He doesn’t.

 

He just nods and relaxes, eye focused on my hands as I use them both to hold his face. I lean and stretch as much as I can to kiss him softly on the lips. I switch our positions so he’s the one on the wall, pinned and confined in the corner.

 

His chest swells as he takes in erratic breaths. Then his lips find the shell of my ear, hidden in my hair.

 

“Oh. If we had the time, the things I would _do_ – ,”

 

“Did I say speak?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then be quiet. For once.”

 

I clench my jaw just before I twine my arms around his neck. His lips melt into mine, warm and slick.

 

_Is this wrong?_

_Will he just leave me again? Hurt me all over?_

_Or will he stay this time? Push down his doubts?_

I thread my hands into his thick, soft hair. He purrs when I scratch my nails over his scalp, and then his hands hold onto the curve of my waist. He lifts me, just a bit, so that his knee can slide between my thighs where heat has pooled and swirled.

 

_Oh, fuck._

_If I don’t stop us now, what happened on the Dock will happen all over again._

What sense I had left in me disappears as he stumbles over to the desk – _his_ desk. He knocks off what was left on it – books and scrolls and a lantern, then pulls me over his body.

 

“Don’t mind those,” he says breathlessly.

 

I smirk as I look down at the floor. “Who will clean all this up – ?”

 

His lips crash down on mine and I’m thrown over him as he lays down on the desk. He’s vulnerable beneath me, slouched out in such a manner that it’s almost obscene. I continue to kiss him as I sneak a hand down to the hard thickness in his trousers, then I rub him and he _moans_ loudly.

 

“Oh, _fuck – ,”_

“Do you want this, Julian? Tell me you want this.”

 

“I want this. I want _you._ Please.”

 

“Then take me.”

 

I undo the buckle of his belt then release the buttons of his trousers. He arches into my touch as I reach into his smalls and stroke him. He whines and writhes restlessly as he wets his lips. It sounds like words are stuck in his throat and he’s choked on them.

 

He flips our positions so that I’m bent over the desk and he’s behind me. His calloused hands crumple up the skirts of my dress above my waist. I flinch from the bite of the cold air, but then push back towards him when I feel the swollen tip of his erection at my soaked entrance.

 

“Mm. I like the dress,” he coos.

 

I chuckle softly. “I could tell.”

 

“Did you wear it just to torture me? To remind me what an idiot I am?”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Little _minx.”_

“Mhm. That’s me. _Your_ little minx.”

 

He makes a pained noise. “ _My_ little minx? Oh, do I love the sound of that.”

 

“Yes. I’m all yours, Julian,” I murmur. “If you’ll have me?”

 

He thrusts into me in one smooth movement and I cry out. He fills me, buries his thick cock deep inside me and I can feel his pulse when he stills. His hot breath tickles my ear and then his words lick over me like the sweat that trickles down my throat.

 

“ _If_ I’ll have you? God, I had wondered if _you_ would want _me._ Of course I’ll have you, woman. But do you really want me? Truly, with all your heart?”

 

“ _Yes._ With all my heart.”

 

His hands latch onto my waist as he fucks me. It isn’t the slow, cautious sensation I had on the Docks. This is desperate. Needy. Fervent. He and I both know we’re limited on time so he slams his hips into me as fast as he can while I clutch to the ends of the desk and moan his name.

 

The _slap_ of our bodies echoes in the quiet. I’m too blissed-out to care much. Heat and tension have coiled low in my belly and I’m so close – so close – and then I shatter when he shifts his position, and his cock rubs my clit as he sinks himself into me.

 

“Oh, God. _Yes._ Julian. Oh. Ohhhh.”

 

“You don’t know how beautiful you sound when you moan my name.”

 

He bites the shell of my ear as his pace falters, then he comes. His warm seed spills into me and the warmth spreads into my veins. I’m limp and out of breath beneath him. He calms himself as he brushes my wild hair aside and kisses the sensitive skin of my neck.

 

Then there’s a faint noise on the other side of the door.

 

_Oh no._

“Ah! Milady! Finished up so soon? That’s a surprise!” Portia almost screams.

 

Nadia clears her throat. “Is it? I am quick with such matters.”

 

Julian slides out of me and pulls up his smalls and trousers in an instant. He hurries to re-button and re-buckle himself as he takes my wrist and rushes me into the darkest area of the room. His hands are so shaky that I have to assist him when we bend down.

 

I button him up then clasp the buckle. He lets out a relieved breath, then smooths down the skirts of my dress with his leather hands. His spend drips out of me and so I jerk beneath his touch.

 

“What? What’s the matter?”

 

“N – Nothing.”

 

A lock clicks in the door. There’s ten more left.


End file.
